


Last Breath

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Ficverse: Parker and Madison Stokes [5]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Coma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Nick Stokes/OC, Implied Nick/Finn, Implied Nick/Greg, Nick Stokes Whump, Nick Stokes has kids, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Single Parent Nick Stokes, Whump, coma fic, sequel fic, this fic is going in places I never intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:57:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 64,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Sequel to "A Walk in the Woods," in which Nick Stokes takes his children, Parker and Madison, on a camping trip in the wilderness. Escaped convicts, a beating, a coma, and two children who have to grow up way too fast.





	1. Nina

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impossiblepluto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/gifts).



> The idea for this fic was entirely presented to me by the lovely impossiblepluto, so credit goes to her for the pain I'm about to bring to all of you! (Seriously, thank you for this amazing idea, Pluto!!!)
> 
> ALSO for the purposes of this fic...Nick is a single father.

Madison Stokes had only wanted one thing for her birthday, and one thing only. A Build-A-Bear, a  _ specific _ bear, that Nick had seen the picture of, and said “of course, sweetheart!” Then again, Nick Stokes could never say no to his daughter on anything she wanted. He would find a way to drag down the sun and moon from the sky, if she so desired. But the fact that she just happened to want a blue colored, Dallas Cowboys star covered bear with the word “cowboys” written on one of the feet, made Nick somehow even more happier than he was, in celebrating his daughter’s ninth birthday.

“Here’s the heart, hug it tight!” the attendant told the eager little girl ahead of them. The girl looked up expectantly at her parents, offering the heart to them, but the man--presumably the father--was on a phone call, and the mother gestured for things to speed up. Nick frowned, hoping that he would never become so disconnected from his children, that he would rob them of precious moments such as this one, no matter how cheesy they might be. 

“Here’s the heart, hug it tight!” the attendant told an eager Madison, who was bouncing up and down excitedly on the balls of her feet. 

“Kiss it, Daddy!” Madison demanded. “For America’s Team!” 

Nick smiled, crouched down so that he was eye level with his daughter. He took her hands in his own, planted his lips on the heart that was cupped between her small hands. Her eyes shone, a wide smile beamed off of her radiant face. He wished he could just freeze this moment, live in it forever. 

“Happy birthday, Madison,” he whispered to her, before guiding her hands to put the heart into the stuffed animal. The attendant’s eyes glimmered as well, a small smile spread across her own face. Madison was so polite, as she always was, to the lady as they walked over to the fluffing section. Nick had never been so proud, that his children were turning out to be somehow even better people than he was.

He let her take as much time as she wanted, grooming the bear, picking out accessories and clothing, gave her no limit. Soon enough, Nick’s arms were full of clothing and accessories for the bear--including an outfit that she made Nick pick out for the bear, he went with a football jersey, to which Madison giggled, “of course you would.” She sat idly at the computer chair, spinning around in her seat as she struggled to come up with a name for the bear. 

“What should I call it?” 

Nick crouched next to his daughter, stared at the naming screen along with her. Their faces both scrunched in concentration, a moment which made Nick realize just how much Madison looked like him. The nostrils of her nose, which was shaped like Nick’s flared outward, her lips pursed. Her eyes floated upward, toward the banner of a variety of bears. 

“OH! I know, ‘Nina!’” She called out, pointing at a bear that was dressed like a ballerina. 

“Nina?”

“Yeah! I was gonna call her ‘Rina’ but then I thought of ‘Tina’ and then I thought of ‘Nina!’”

“Rina-Tina-Nina,” Nick suggested, to which Madison giggled. 

“That’s her  _ full  _ name, but her nickname is ‘Nina’--oh my god,  _ Daddy _ !” Madison gasped in excitement, shaking her hands in the air.

“What-y?” Nick responded in the same tone, a smirk on his face. 

“Both your names start with ‘N!’ This is  _ perfect _ !” 

She entered the name, printed out the certificate and showed it to Nick with such pride, as if it were a straight A report card from school. Nick paid for the bear and all its accessories, carried the plastic bags holding the variety of clothes and accessories, as Madison carried her new bear in the cardboard bear carrier. 

“Alright, let’s go check in with Park.”

He took out his cell phone to text his son, find out where he was in the massive mall. Parker had met up with his group of friends when they arrived at the mall a little over an hour ago, occasionally checked in with Nick on what stores he was at, but he hadn’t heard back from him in a while. He kept reminding himself that Parker was fifteen years old, a teenager, that there would come a point where he would be so wrapped up in his world, he wouldn’t dedicate time to communicate with his father, but it didn’t ease Nick’s anxiety. His mind couldn’t help but wander to the darkest scenarios, in which his son was mugged, or attacked, or lured, or abducted.

It also didn’t help that one of the more recent cases that the San Diego Crime Lab had investigated, involved teenagers around Parker’s age, being stalked and abducted, and Nick found himself in a dilemma; he didn’t want to shield his children so much that they became reclusive, rob them of the innocence of their youth, but he also didn’t want them to fall into a trap that would lead them down the same traumatic train he was bound to ride forever, or even worse...

“He’s not answering…” Nick muttered, gripped Madison’s hand a little tighter, though the circulation in his hand was bound by the plastic of the bags around his wrist. 

“Maybe he’s at Game Stop? He told me he was going to use his allowance on the new Pokemon game,” Madison suggested, shaking Nick out of his trance of worry. 

Nick’s heart receded back into his chest, gave his daughter, who was completely unaware of the horrific things that could happen to youth when left unattended, a small smile. 

“Detective Madison Stokes, on the case again, huh? Let’s go, then.” 

Madison giggled as her father shook her hand and they walked to the game store on the second floor. Madison, ever the curious child, would stop them and point things out, asking questions and proclaiming how much she loved the mall. She always had the knack of making Nick feel better, though part of him was still doubtful that his son would be at this store, and would have maybe gone somewhere else, detached from his friends, isolated prey in a sea of complete strangers.

But his fear was finally erased as they spotted Parker through the window of the store, talking excitedly to another boy, one of the ones he had seen his son gather with when they arrived at the mall. They were holding hands, Parker was pointing out a game with his free hand, as the other boy leaned his head against his shoulder. 

“They grow up so fast,” Madison remarked as a warm smile spread across Nick’s face.

“Yeah, they do...wait a minute, what are you talking about?” Nick furrowed his eyebrows at his daughter. “You’re nine years old!” 

He texted his son again--Parker reached into his pocket to take his phone out, looked at the screen, but instead of answering, put it back into his pocket again.

“He ghosted you!” Madison gasped. 

Nick dialed his son’s phone number, his brows furrowed so deep, his eyes were on fire. A rare scowl on his face, as he clenched his teeth. As the phone rang, he tried to come up with the most petty, embarrassing things he could do or say when walking into the store itself, if Parker continued to “ghost” him.

He watched as Parker rolled his eyes, muttered “sorry” to the boy he was entangled with, and answered the phone.

“Yeah?” 

“Hey, bud, where are you? You haven’t been answering my texts.”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I’m at the uh, at the food court with my friends.”

Nick’s eyebrows raised so high, he thought they might have surpassed his hair. First he ignored his father, and now he was  _ lying  _ to him?

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Then how come Madison and I can see you holding hands with a nice young man in a video game store?” 

Parker turned his head to the window, where his father stood, looking expectantly at his son for an answer, while Madison waved at her older brother with a devilish smile on her face--the kind that just screamed, “ _ You’re gonna get it! _ ” 

Parker looked back at the boy with a mournful expression on his face. 

“Who are they?” Nick could just barely hear in the background of the phone call, before Parker hung up the phone, wiped his face, said something to the boy, and sulked out to the storefront. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, gripping his arm in a sheepish manner, before running a hand through his hair.

“C’mere,” Nick softened and pulled his son into a tight, totally-embarrassing-for-a-teenager hug. 

“Dad…” he whined. 

“Parker Roger Stokes,” Nick began in a firm tone, his hand clutching the back of Parker’s shaggy hair as he pulled his son’s head away from his chest. He looked into his son’s eyes, then back at the boy waiting in the game store, who was pretending not to pay attention, then back to his son.

“Just...keep me updated, okay?” Nick whispered to him. “And stop growing up so damn fast.”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Parker muttered. “Thanks…”

He planted a long kiss on the top of his son’s head, before releasing him. He waved to the boy in the store with a curt nod, and Madison waved at him eagerly. The boy smiled in return, waving a hand in acknowledgement. Nick couldn’t help but throw daggers with his eyes at the young man, the type engraved with the threat, “don’t you dare hurt my son.”

Parker looked back at his family, hands in his pockets, before turning back and practically  _ running  _ back into the store to meet up with his friend. 

“Madison,” Nick addressed his daughter, picking up her hand in his own again.

“Yeah, Daddy?”

“You’re not allowed to become a teenager.” 

“Okay, Daddy. Doesn’t seem that much fun, anyway.”

“It isn’t,” Nick sighed. He turned away from the game store, reigned in everything that was telling him to go back and command his son to come back home with them, instead of having a fun afternoon with his friends. “C’mon, honey, let’s go home.”

“Aw, but I wanna stayyyyy!” Madison whined. Nick wanted to give in so badly, but they had more errands to accomplish, chores to complete, and packing to do. 

“I know, sweetie, but I promise, it’ll be worth your while. I got one more surprise for your birthday…”

“Really!?” Madison exclaimed. She began to hop up and down.

“Yeah, it’s at one of the stores on our way out.” 

They found themselves in the central plaza of the mall, walking towards the branch that they had entered through, when Madison stopped them to point out the television screens. 

“Look, Daddy, you’re on TV!” 

Footage of a press conference played, Nick was among the cast of people on the screen, which included the mayor, Undersheriff Sofia Curtis, the police chief and the warden. The sound was masked over the loud buzz of the mall crowd, but the banner on the bottom of the screen read, “San Diego Stalker Slammed Behind Bars.” 

A nasty case, if Nick was being completely honest, that caused his crime lab a lot of overtime, and also dredged up old, cringe inducing memories of a bird-named, glasses wearing man watching him sleep. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen this one before. The store’s right up ahead,” Nick shrugged off, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder, suddenly feeling as if all the eyes in the mall were on him. Something slivered down his spine, he picked up his walking pace, until they reached the store right by the exit. 

It was Eddie Bauer, a store that sold outerwear and gear. Nick directed them to the section that contained backpacks. 

“Pick a color,” he told his daughter. “And you’ll have to pick a color for your jacket, too.” 

“But school’s not for another few months?” Madison asked. “Why do I need a backpack?”

“For our trip, Maddy. We’re gonna go camping!”

“Really?” Maddy asked, her eyes lighting up.

Maddy dropped her bear carrier and wrapped her arms in a tight hug around her father, a muffled scream blasted through the fabric of Nick’s shirt onto his stomach. To say that she was excited was an understatement. 

“Happy birthday, Madison,” he repeated, planting a soft kiss onto the top of her head.

“This is the best birthday ever!” she proclaimed, giving her father another tight squeeze, before she darted around the store, picking out her outfit and gear. 

Nick smiled, feeling happier than he had been in recent memory, so happy, that nothing could sour his elation. Any and all anxiety over troublesome teenagers or ghosts of the past were gone, nothing could touch him on the cloud that he was floating on. Another freeze-frame moment, that he wished he could live in forever. 


	2. Teddy Bear in Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise made between a brother and sister revealed, dad reflexes, and a late night conversation with a boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a recap of A Walk in the Woods in this one, and also I make a reference to an event I mentioned all the way back in Ten Across, the fic that started it all ;)

“Psst...Parker... _ Parrrrrrkerrrrrr _ !” 

An eager whisper nudged Parker to wake from his slumber. He had just fallen back asleep, after sensing a disturbance, though the house had remained quiet, as far as he was aware. He could see the blurry outline of his younger sister as he looked at the clock, it was only one in the morning. He heard short, staggered breaths and quiet whimpers from the young girl, as his vision focused, he saw that she was crying.

“Mads...it’s like, one o’clock…what’s going on?”

“Something’s wong with Daddy!” she cried out. “I had a bad dweam--”

“ _ Dream _ ,” Parker corrected her with a yawn. Five years old, and she still talked like a baby. 

“I went to go sleep in his bed, a-and I whispered to him, when he woke up he  _ jumped  _ out of the bed and screamed!” She threw her hands up as she recounted the event. Parker filled in the blanks, she screamed back, ran out of the room, and into Parker’s room. The scream must have been what woke him up. 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you, Mads,” Parker told his sister, brushing the hair out of her face. “C’mon, you wanna go check on him with me?” 

She nodded furiously, pulled her groggy brother out of bed. They walked hand in hand to their father’s bedroom, the door was still ajar. Sam was in the room now, on the bed, being pet by their father, who was panting. 

“Dad?” Parker asked hesitantly, quietly. They stood in the door frame, Madison’s fingers gripped tighter onto Parker’s as their father turned his head to acknowledge them.

“You all right?” Parker asked in almost a whisper, his voice cracking slightly. He had seen that look on his Dad’s face once before, a few years ago, when he encountered his father in the hallway. Covered in sweat and fear.

“Yeah...Yeah, Park, I’m-I’m good. Aw, Maddy, c’mere, what’s wrong, sweetie?” Nick softened as he saw Madison clutching onto Parker’s shirt with her free hand. He twisted his body on the bed, held out his arms for her to run into them. 

She did, and as their father hugged Madison tight and gave her plenty of kisses, Parker stumbled back into his room and fell back asleep to the distant sounds of stifled cries and murmured explanations. 

The next night, Parker was getting ready for bed, when he walked by his father’s room and saw Madison searching around, opening dresser drawers and checking the closet. They weren’t necessarily  _ not  _ allowed to invade the privacy of their father’s bedroom, but Parker found it odd that Madison seemed to be not just searching, but  _ checking,  _ muttering to herself that it was “all clear.”

“What’re you doing, Mads?” he asked. 

“Checking for monsters!” Madison explained. “Daddy told me last night, he thought I was a monster, when I scared him, and I got to thinkin’...Daddy protects us from the monsters at night, but who protects him?” 

Parker wanted to go on a rant about how monsters weren’t actually real, that perhaps their father had just gotten startled by the five year old staring him in the face in the middle of the night--if not expecting such a sight, it would be rather creepy. But then Parker remembered the night his father had caught him sneaking around the house, remembered the haunted look on his face. Maybe monsters were real, and their father directed them towards him instead of his children.

“We’ll protect him,” Parker stated, walking over to grab Madison’s hand in his own.

“Promise?” Madison asked.

“I promise. No monsters will hurt Dad while we’re around,” Parker affirmed. “Did you check under the bed yet?”

Some time after that, Parker had broken the promise--at least, according to Madison. Rather than a monster, it would be the man’s own two nephews who would unintentionally hurt Nick, trap him in a hole with a concussion and a broken leg. It was then that Parker would learn about the other tragedies his father had suffered, though some of the details were still unclear. 

They hadn’t let what happened during that hunting trip impede them, however. Nick made sure to instill into Parker that just because something bad happens one time, doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same spot,” he had told his son, which then spurred a small debate in which Parker affirmed that, “yes, it can strike twice in the same spot, Dad, you’re a scientist, you should know this!,” and that the location of the hunting trip changes every year, so how would they know it would still be safe?

“By going on the trip,” his father had resolved simply. And to his credit, he was correct. The next hunting trip was a successful one, minus a few scrapes and bruises from rough-housing play, no major injuries happened. No tragedies. No trauma. The next trip was the same, and Parker had a feeling that the trip for this year would turn out okay as well--but he would be lying if he said he didn’t have the slightest uneasy feeling about  _ this  _ particular trip, that he, Madison and their father would be embarking on. No Eli, no Sam, no Cisco, no Uncle Todd...just,  _ them _ . 

He was relaying these anxieties to his boyfriend, Colin, a frown on his face as his eyes squinted at the phone screen. It was hard to see the letters clearly without his glasses, but it was uncomfortable to lay on his side, half of his face in the pillow with the glasses on, he worried that they would snap in the pressure. The eye doctor had told him he’d be able to see stuff near to him, anyway, even encouraged him to take his glasses off when he was close to a computerized screen.

_ The last time it was just me and him, he got hurt. I mean, granted, it wasn’t JUST me there, but I feel like...I caused it. _

A few moments passed, Parker watched the speech bubble with three dots oscillate on the message screen, his heartbeat steadily increasing.

_ I’m sure it’ll be fine! Nerves are normal before a big trip. _

_ I wish you were coming with. Dad sort of sprung this up on us before I could ask.  _

_ It’s cool, babe. I’m sure we’ll get to go somewhere together some day. I’ll miss you xx _

_ I’ll miss you too, Col xx I’ll take lots of pics tho <3 _

A knock at his door, followed by the creaking of the door opening made his ears prick up. Gentle pattering of bare feet on the floor of his bedroom, darting from one end of the room to the other. He put his phone face down on his bed, shut his eyes in an effort to pretend to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake!” Madison hissed at her brother, rolling him onto his back, pushing him to the other side of the bed. She was clutching her Dallas Cowboys teddy bear as she settled against the backboard to her brother’s bed.

“Mads, do you know what time it is?” Parker protested in a fake yawn. 

“Not late enough to stop texting your  _ boyfriend _ ,” Madison teased. 

“Bad dream again?” Parker deflected, wrapping a supportive arm around his sister.

“No, I’m just so  _ excited!  _ This trip is gonna be so much fun, like going to Disney!” 

“Mmm. Except less pirates.”

“What’s wrong, aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah, Mads, I am…”

“But…?”

“I’m just...after last time,”

“Well, none of that is gonna happen. Cause  _ I’m  _ gonna be there this time. Detective Madison Stokes, who has a keen eye for pitfall traps!” 

Parker chuckled, gently pushed his sister off of his bed.

“Well, even great detectives need their sleep. Go get some shut-eye. I’m gonna.”

“You just want to keep textin’ your boyfriend! Tell him I said--” Madison whined, before blowing a soft raspberry with her lips. She left the room in an exaggerated dramatic tip toe as she tried to make as little noise as possible. As soon as she left the room, Parker went back to his phone.

_ Sorry, Mads came in to chat. _

_ Aw, your lil sis is adorable! Your family is so nice...tho your dad’s a bit scary  _

Parker smiled at the grimacing emoji on the phone screen.

_ Nah, he’s a huge softie. A big teddy bear in disguise. You should come over some night for dinner or somethin’. He’ll warm up to you in a heartbeat. _

_ I’d like that. _

_ Me too.  _

_ Ah, jeez now my old man’s bargin’ in. gtg. adios, amigo <3 _

_ G’night Col <3 _

Parker finally plugged his phone in, and drifted off into an uneasy dream of star-covered, blue teddy bears with his father’s face falling into pitfalls in a forest. Giant monster claws throwing them down from the trees looming above him. It was like a video game, down to the score counter at the top left of his vision. He tried to catch them before they fell, but a few eluded his grasp. Madison, who was running around in a deer-stalker detective’s hat, was also unable to save all of them--she was buried in the weight of all the teddy bears she had collected, her small arm sticking out, reaching for help. Even Sam, who was jumping up and grabbing the bears in the air, throwing them to the side, was unable to keep track of them all. More and more bears fell, more and more cracking noises and screams, it felt like a battlefield. His body was weighed down, his movements slowed with every failed attempt at rescuing the bears.

One teddy bear in particular, wasn’t a bear at all, though it was the same size as the other bears, it was his father, covered in blood, and he was flailing in the air, caught in a never-ending scream, Parker dove to catch him before he fell into the hole, but in doing so, was going to fall into the hole with him--

A hand on his shoulder, pulled Parker backwards, a familiar, comforting voice, guided him out of this nightmare and back into his bedroom.

“Hey, Park, buddy. Time to get up, got some breakfast downstairs,” his father whispered to him. Parker sat up, rubbing his eyes before he shifted suddenly, almost shocked at the full sized, unharmed version of his father that was sitting on his bed. Sam hopped up, licked Parker in the face as attempted to reach for his glasses.

“Get enough sleep, Prince Charmin’?” his father teased now that his son was fully lucid. He picked up his son’s glasses and handed them over to him, as he continued to tend to the eagerly loving Sam. “You stay up late playin’ games again?”

“Couldn’t sleep. So excited,” Parker lied, a lie had told him during that last trip, though this time, to mask his concern at himself, rather than for his father. He shook his head, hoping the images of the nightmare would shake out of his mind. His father smiled, and Parker felt himself rooted in reality just a little more than a few seconds before.

“Yeah, Maddy said she couldn’t sleep either. Woke me up, in fact, jumping on the bed!”

“She’ll probably sleep in the car.”

“Yeah, probably...Anyway, get dressed, buddy. We’re gonna be rolling out in about an hour, I’m almost done packing the car.”

Parker threw on a hoodie, jeans and his hiking boots, tousled his hair all spiked up, checked himself out in the mirror, before snapping a selfie and sending it to Colin.

_ Well good morning to you too, beautiful! _

Parker beamed as he continued to text back and forth with his boyfriend, before he bumped into his father as he reached the bottom stair--His father somehow managed to catch his son’s phone in the same hand that held his car keys and a flashlight, used his elbow to prevent Parker from falling, as he continued to hold onto a large lantern, wrapped his leg around the stair post to stop his own fall.

“Whoa, nice reflexes, Dad!” Parker remarked, grabbing the phone back from his father’s hand and continuing on into the kitchen. He smirked back at his father, who looked mildly exasperated, but slightly bemused nonetheless. As Parker ate his breakfast, he felt his heart floating in his chest. Perhaps nothing would go wrong on this trip after all, everyone seemed on top of their game, between dad reflexes and eager detectives. He took another picture, though forgot to flip the camera to selfie mode at first--but the picture he had taken by accident was too good not to keep. A rare moment of serenity in the bustling morning of the Stokes household, as Madison ran laps around the kitchen. He smiled, as he stared at the captured image of the teddy bear, radiating in the sunlight’s glow on top of the kitchen counter, safe and sound.


	3. I Bet My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was happy, though, that both his children got along so well, have a connection, rather than a rivalry or disinterest, because if something were to happen to him, at least they would have that foundation of trust, of respect for one another. Heaven forbid, if something happened to him...at least they would have each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song I reference in this chapter is the amazing Imagine Dragons/Bastille remix of "I Bet My Life."

As suspected, Madison fell asleep less than fifteen minutes into the long car ride to the camping site. Parker was texting, presumably his boyfriend, hadn’t stopped texting since they got in the car.

“So, this boy of yours…” Nick began in a casual, probing drawl. It had been nearly an hour since either man spoke a word to each other, he turned down the radio in the car.

“Dad…” Parker started in a warning tone.

“What, I just wanna make sure that this boy is gonna treat you right!”

“You wouldn’t be asking me that if he was a girl.”

“Ah--now, that’s not fair! I would definitely be asking the same questions, regardless of gender!” 

“If he was a girl you’d be telling me how to treat  _ her  _ right.”

“Well, of course we’re gonna cover that, I just want to make sure this guy’s worth it, first!” 

“He is. Maybe if you would give him a chance--”

“When did I say I  _ wasn’t? _ I haven’t even met him yet!”

“Exactly! So why are you so quick to jump on the subject?”

“Why are you being so defensive?”

Awkward silence, Nick licked his lips while he waited for an answer.

“He’s scared of you,” Parker muttered.

“Good,” Nick nodded.  _ At least  _ some  _ teenager is taking me seriously. _

“Listen, Park, you may think I’ve forgotten, in my old age, but I do remember what it’s like to be a teenager--”

“Oh, boy, here we go…”

“--and teenagers do stupid stuff! Say stupid stuff! Think they’re in love one minute and then break up the next. I just...I don’t want you to get hurt. By  _ anyone _ .” 

More silence, Parker made a point of looking out the window instead of at his father. Nick gave up and turned the volume on the radio higher again. Perhaps he was just projecting his own insecurities over relationships onto his son, who obviously did not have the same trust issues that Nick did.

Many miles passed, Madison was still sound asleep, clutching Nina. Parker was still attentive to his phone. Nick breathed deep, not the best start to the trip that he hoped would be free of silly family drama. He resolved that he would have to wait until the battery of his phone died, before Parker would speak again. 

So he was surprised an hour later when Parker spoke again, as a mash-up song played on the radio, sung by two familiar bands. 

“Is that...Imagine Dragons?  _ And  _ Bastille?” 

Nick turned up the volume as high as he felt comfortable, without waking Madison up. He smiled, as his son looked to him with his own goofy smile plastered on his face.

“I love Imagine Dragons!”

“I love Bastille!” 

Both son and father spoke in unison, before bursting out into laughter, then sang along with the song, to each other. Parker didn’t look at his phone for the entire duration of the song, Nick alternated his attention between the road and his son. The song faded out and the air in the car felt lighter than before, the tension had eased up.

“His name is Colin,” Parker told his father, he turned down the radio, his other hand fiddled with his phone. “He’s my age, no siblings but has a huge extended family, told me he moved here from Vegas a couple years back. He’s really sweet, likes dogs, likes video games, likes... _ me. _ I-I don’t know why he does, but h-he does and I really like him, too.”

Silence, save for the sound of the car’s engine, the tires circulating on pavement, and Parker returned to looking out the window, was in the midst of sending a long winded, ranting text to Colin about how his dad just “didn’t understand” before he erased it, after his father spoke back to him.

“Invite him for dinner, next week.” 

“Who’s comin’ to dinner?” a sleepy voice yawned. 

“That really old guy you like watching on TV,” Parker responded without a single thought. 

“George!?” Madison squeaked, all trace of tiredness gone. 

“Of course not! Colin’s coming for dinner.” 

“Aw, I wish it was George…”

“You only like him so much ‘cause he looks like Dad.”

“How come Maddy knew your boyfriend’s name before I did?” Nick chimed in before a conversation erupted about his similarities to an actor, and Madison giggled. 

“Mads and I just have that connection, I s’pose.”

“Yeah, Daddy, we got a connection!” 

“Before I know it, you two are gonna gang up on your dear old Dad,” Nick shook his head, laughing. He was happy, though, that both his children got along so well, have a connection, rather than a rivalry or disinterest, because if something were to happen to him, at least they would have that foundation of trust, of respect for one another. Heaven forbid, if something happened to him...at least they would have each other. 

The rest of the car ride was spent with idle chatter and happy smiles, playful bickering between the two Stokes siblings and the occasional “Dad joke” from Nick—to which Parker and Madison groaned, “stop trying to be funny, Dad! It’s not happening!”—though secretly, both of them loved the jokes, as full of cheese and puns as they were.

At long last, they arrived to the national park that they would be camping at. Nick went to check in the ranger--they would camping off site, in the true wilderness, away from civilization. Nick had packed enough provisions to last them through the week, though he would be instructing his children on how to forage in the forest for food as well.

“Whoa, this place is  _ huge _ !” Madison exclaimed as she and Parker walked around the nature center, as Nick talked to the ranger. “Even bigger than Disneyland!” 

“Yeah, it sure is,” Parker replied, though he was only half paying attention. He was still texting Colin, as much as he could before the reception faded away for good. He snapped a selfie, though Madison photo-bombed--which Parker didn’t realize until after he hit send.

“Mads!” he groaned, and Madison responded with giggles. Parker snapped another picture, of the giant map in front of them, even though Nick had already picked up a printed copy by the time they left the nature center and began their hike to the middle of nowhere. Parker was able to send one last selfie before he lost reception completely, and received one of Colin in return. 

They parked their car in a small parking lot and started walking through a trail, each equipped with their backpacks and various loads of gear. Nick carried a small cooler and the tent gear, Madison was struggling to carry all of the sleeping bags, as well as her bear. Parker, however, had the lightest load, carrying the lantern he had nearly broken earlier, and a duffel bag filled with miscellaneous equipment. He used his free hand to continue talking selfies and pictures of the area around them, which made him fall behind the rest of the group. 

“Daaaaaaaad, how come Parker’s playin’ on his phone while we have to drag everything along?” Madison whined.

“Park, buddy, why don’t you take a sleeping bag from your sister? Maddy, would that make you feel better?”

“I can do it! I can carry it!” Madison shrieked. 

“Then why are you throwing a tantrum?” Parker retorted.

“I’m not throwin’ a tantrum!” Madison stomped her foot in the ground to prove it.

“Hey,  _ Panchitos,  _ knock it off!” Nick called back, not having stopped for his children’s argument. “We’re going off roadin’, let’s go!” 

Nick led the group off of the trail, through a slightly narrow passage of trees, which Nick had nearly run through, breathing heavily as he came out the other side. Parker’s eyebrows furrowed, mouthing a question of concern, which Nick waved off as they continued on. 

After hours of walking, they made it to their final destination, a small clearing near a cliff’s edge, which gave the Stokes family a breathtaking view of the mountainous landscape.

Madison, who had nearly collapsed when she was able to drop her load, suddenly got her second wind. She grabbed her father’s hand, brought him to the gorgeous view, pointing out the various animals and sights that were within her view. Parker had snapped more pictures, more selfies, and took a moment to reflect, before he began assisting in pitching the tent. 

By the time camp was fully set up, they had a quick dinner of campfire-roasted hot dogs and potato chips--Nick figured they would start off slow with the survival food, slowly introduce the foraged mushrooms and plants into their diet, until that was all they would eat by the end of the trip. He packed some protein bars for breakfasts and snacks, a couple bottles of fresh water, but also packed a filter to obtain more from the creek nearby. 

He had also packed the ingredients for making s’mores, which he would wait to reveal to his children until the third night, after they returned from a small rock-climbing experience. Their first day of activities had been a trial in attentiveness--a game mixed with the rules of hide-and-seek and tag, to hone their observation skills, as they took turns hiding in wooded area and small caves--though Parker had lost miserably (“There’s no winning or losing here, buddy, it’s okay”), having gotten startled by a group of bats in one of the deeper caves. After the game, Nick taught the kids how to spot out the edible plants from the harmful ones, then made another little game out of picking out plants for their food supply--whoever gathered the most would get the last hot dog from the night before. Parker won, a natural botanist, though he would credit his sharp observation skills for the victory, rubbing it in the face of “Detective Madison Stokes.” 

The second day was a trial of endurance, beginning with an uphill hike, which was not on the paved pathway of the forest, making it more difficult to keep perfect balance. The hike led them to a small cliff-face, which he dared Parker and Madison to climb to prove their strength. He had enticed the kids, who were running low on energy, by promising a double s’more to the sibling that would make it to the top first. Madison, who had shorter limbs and more agility, quickly surpassed Parker, who struggled, even with his longer reach, to keep his footing on the rocks. Nick had stayed at the bottom, ready to catch either or both of his children should they have fallen off. 

“I did it! I did it!” Madison cheered as she stood tall on top of the cliff. Parker, who had not made it that far to begin with, jumped off the side of the cliff, broke his fall with an exhilarating roll. He smiled, let his imagination trick him into believing he was one of his favorite video game characters, running through the forest and doing parkour.

“How you gonna get down, Mads?” Parker questioned, still trying to keep the high ground in their little “competition.”

“I’mma jump!” Madison called down.

“Maddy, sweetie, maybe that’s not a great idea--”

“I can do it, Daddy, I’m gonna jump! One,”

“Mads, wait!”

“Two--”

Nick held out his arms, calculated her trajectory and moved his footing slightly, braced himself to catch the young girl. Parker mimicked his father, the exhilaration turning into an anxious adrenaline rush as he feared that another Stokes family member would cut this trip short with a broken leg.

“Three!”

* * *

Laughter erupted from the bottom of the cliff. They peered over the rock they were crouched behind, the girl-- _ cute girl _ \--that had dove off the edge hadn’t noticed their presence. The landing result must have been good, and that assumption was confirmed as they saw the girl lifted off the men she had landed on.

“I wanna do it again!” she called out, they crouched back behind the rock, until the older man spoke. 

“Whoa,  _ Panchita,  _ take it easy! We gotta get back before the chocolate melts for our s’mores!” 

“Daddy, why’d you call me ‘Panchita?’ I thought you were ‘Pancho.’”

“I am! You’re my little Pancho.  _ Panchita.  _ The ‘ _ ita’  _ means little, in an affectionate way.” The old man explained. 

“Well...then you’re my  _ Papita!”  _ Madison giggled, and both men burst out into laughter. They smiled too, knowing the implications of the slang. 

“ _ Papito _ ,” the older man corrected his daughter. “‘Papita’ means something different.”

“What does it mean?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“You always say that!” 

The voices were growing more distant, they peeked from around the rock again, slowly crawling closer to the edge, to observe which direction the group walked towards. The older man took a look back, nearly spotted them.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” the young man asked. 

“Nothin’. Just the noises of the forest, I guess...C’mon, let’s go get those s’mores!”

“First one back to camp gets the first one!” the little girl declared, ran ahead. 

“Hey! Not fair!” the young man called out, before he ran after the girl.

“Pick up some sticks on your way back!” the older man shouted to his children, he didn’t seem eager to follow them. He seemed to know the lay of the land quite well, in fact. He had stayed behind, momentarily, a hand planted on his back, under his shirt. He surveyed the area for a few seconds, before easing his posture, walking into the darkening woods to find his children.

They would have to take him down first. 

* * *

“It was a dark, and stormy night…”

“Daddy, that’s  _ so cliche!”  _

“How does a nine year old know what the word ‘cliche’ means?”

“Y’all wanna hear the story, or not?”

Murmured apologies, but stifled snickers as their father cleared his throat with an exaggerated gesture to begin the story again.

“It was a dark, and stormy night, when a little girl holding a blue teddy bear--”

“Like Nina?!”

“And a young, mopey boy with his eyes glued to a cell phone--”

Parker was too busy documenting the tale in his phone to notice the playful dig at him. Colin would love this story, he loved horror movies.

“Trekked through the woods, when they stumbled across a tall woman,  _ moaning-- _ ”

He moaned dully, raised his hands out in front of him, reached one towards each child menacingly.

“They walked up to her, to see what was wrong, but when she turned around, they saw that she had NO EYES!” 

Madison gasped, Parker rolled his eyes. He heard this one before, but didn’t know about the twist that Nick was about to reveal.

“Holes, where her eyes should be, blood, pouring from the empty sockets--”

He shoved down all the various images of old crime scene photos, of bodies on autopsy tables, tried to conjure an image as fake as the horror story he was relaying at his children's request. He lamented the fact that it wasn’t too hard to think of a scary story to tell them before bedtime.

“What did they do next?” Madison asked, hugging her bear closer to her chest.

“They ran back to their campsite, but they got lost, the fire had gone out--”

Nick poured water over the campfire, Parker had sat up straight, startled by a plume of smoke that sizzled in the air. Nick stood up and began to walk slowly around the group, stalking around the extinguished fire, the kids were still put off by the sudden darkness.

“They heard  _ scraping, screaming  _ as they kept running, faster and faster...they kept looking behind them, looking for the eyeless woman as she chased them through the woods--the boy tripped, his phone  _ shattered _ , found himself looking down the deep, dark, void of the empty sockets--”

Madison hid her face behind the bear, Parker leaned forward, trying to keep sight of his father in the darkness.

“When suddenly…”

He found himself at the beginning of the circle, placed each of his hands on the shoulders of his children. Madison and Parker both screamed--Parker would deny that fact until the end of time.

“Their dad popped out behind the tree and saved them!”

His fingers tickled their stomachs, and they dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. He picked Madison up and swung her around before embracing her in a tight hug, an effort to dispel the lasting horrific images of his story with a joyful one, before they entered the tent and called it a night. 

Though it was yet another restless night for Nick, for the third night in a row he found himself unable to fall asleep, without startling himself awake with hypothetical scenarios in which someone was outside of the tent, watching them, rustling in their possessions. He could almost hear the zipper unzipping, could almost hear the heavy breathing as they were  _ examined _ , judged in the eyes of the stalker. 

He could almost see a hole at the top of the tent, watching him,  _ recording  _ him sleeping, though he had patched up that hole a few decades ago, at this point.

He looked at his watch, it was three in the morning, and he sighed, got out of the tent to stretch and go to the bathroom. He sat on the giant log that he and Parker had carved into a makeshift bench, rubbed his weary eyes. He had hoped that this trip would accomplish a few things, one of which being a break from the terrors of his job. Even if he wasn’t as involved in the day to day investigations, wasn't processing evidence, and interviewing suspects, having to read detailed reports and give press conferences on serial stalkers threw him down a rabbit hole of details that he was better off not knowing. 

It was just stupid, silly paranoia, that made him constantly look over his shoulder these last few days. Phantom footsteps that were nothing more than the ambient sounds of the forest. Glowing eyes that belonged to owls hooting in the trees. The heavy breathing was his own, he needed to control it, remind himself that he had air to breathe. 

He shut his eyes, a weight lifted off of his shoulders as he let out a deep exhale, found himself drifting off into a dreamland of owls and s’mores, lost in the sounds of a resting forest, when his body stood up at the sound of a broken stick--he drew his gun out, spun towards the source of the noise--but the gun fell out of his hand as his arms were grabbed and twisted behind him, something was placed into his mouth, it tasted like woven cloth--Parker’s beanie, perhaps? Madison’s sweater?--He tried to fight against the force that was binding him, squirmed--tried to lift up his feet to kick in front and behind him--Tried to call out to his kids, tell them to run--And then, something hit him in the head,  _ hard _ , but consciousness stayed with him. 

He opened his eyes, the world was spinning out of focus, but he could see the man in front of him, could see the barrel of his own gun aimed right between his eyes. 

“Make a sound, and we’ll kill the boy slower than the time it takes my friend here to turn your little girl into a  _ woman _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to believe that the Stokes family have a happy end to this camping trip...turn back now.


	4. Evel Knievel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes darted down to the ground, it was at his father’s feet, with a small pile of buttons--probably from his father’s shirt. Evidence. He was leaving evidence. Something was definitely not right.

Birds. Birds were chirping. Leaves rustling in the gentle morning breeze, the tent subtly swayed, though it was hard to see without his glasses. He was cold, didn’t want to leave the cocoon of warmth that his sleeping bag and hoodie provided him, but he was intrigued by the soft murmurs outside the shelter. He wondered if his father and Madison had woken up before him. The floor crinkled beneath him as he remembered that he was in a tent, in a forest, and not on his soft bed at home, though his arm reached for a table that wasn’t there. His hand flopped onto the ground, fumbled around for his glasses, while the other one searched for a phone out of instinct, to text a boy miles and miles away, though the message would remain unsent until they made it back to civilization. 

“Mmm...Park?” a soft, scratchy voice moaned. He must have woken Madison up.

“Sorry, Mads...Mornin’...” Parker muttered, rubbed his eyes before he put on his glasses, put on his shoes. Waved a hand through his hair, and he was ready for the day, though his stomach growled. His mouth watered at the thought of a protein bar. 

“Who do you think Dad’s talkin’ to?” Madison whispered, she hadn’t moved from the sleeping bag, hugged Nina tighter to her chest. 

“Dunno,” Parker yawned. “Maybe the park ranger?”

Parker crept towards the door, as quietly and slowly as he could, he unzipped the window partition just a few inches, to peek through the screen. His dad was hunched over, sat on the log by the fire pit, a large man sat next to him, one arm wrapped around him casually, the other across his stomach, sandwiched between him and his dad. There was another man, sitting on the tree stump Parker had occupied hours before, staring at the tent, a wide smile spread across his face. 

“Well, good morning, sleepy head!” 

A man’s voice, but it wasn’t his father’s, it came from the man on the stump. Parker fell back in shock of being caught eavesdropping. 

“Don’t be shy, now, c’mon out here!”

A sharp inhale, seconds silence. 

“It’s okay, Park. Get your bag ready...We’re going on a hike,” his father’s voice beckoned, half encouragingly, but half...something else. Regretful, perhaps, as if he didn’t want to say the words, he didn’t sound as enthused as he was when he rallied him and Madison for their activities in the last few days. 

“Don’t forget your sister, too!” 

Parker emerged from the tent, curiosity overwhelming his instinct that told him to stay inside. Whoever these men were, how did they know he had a sister? Did they know his father? Did his father say he was with his kids? If so, then they couldn’t be bad men, if Dad trusted them enough to reveal his two sleeping children in the confines of the tent. Dad wouldn’t have said anything, if it wasn’t safe...would he?

His lingering suspicions were validated when he got a clear look at his father’s face--eyes widened, eyebrows curved upward, his lips twitching. A cut on his forehead, blood streaming along the side of his face, a black eye, a reddened jaw. An all too familiar sight, though this time, at ground level. Parker’s fingers balled up into a shaking fist, a wave of fury rose up in his chest.  _ Not again,  _ he begged, to anybody who would listen.

“Dad, what happened?” he asked firmly, standing his ground. “Are you okay?”

He felt his sister emerge behind him, his father stiffened, sat up straight. His fists clenched the cuffs of his sleeves tightly together, the man on the log gripped his shoulder tight. 

“Well, now look at you, such beautiful children, even more handsome than your dear old Dad here,” Stump man remarked, standing up and walking towards Parker. 

“Don’t worry, we’re good friends of your father’s,” he continued, placed a hand on Parker’s back, used the other one to pat the stomach pocket of his hoodie. Was this a pat down, or a touchy-feely gesture? He was used to the latter, with the way his aunts and uncles greet him in similar ways. Parker shoved his hands into his pants pockets, held onto his cell phone with an iron grip. 

“If-if you’re Daddy’s friends, what’s his nickname?” Madison asked. She was gripping onto the back of Parker’s sweatshirt, her chin wobbled as she examined her father from afar. 

A question, a test, Madison knew that strangers who didn’t know her father’s nickname were not to be trusted--only those  _ really  _ close to him knew it. 

The man laughed, a joyous laugh that bellowed deep from his stomach, he stumbled backward, and pointing at Nick, continued his laughter. The large man on the log joined in, gave Nick a shake to entice some laughter out of him as well. Stalling for time? 

“Pancho!” stump-man barked out, and kept laughing. “Which would make  _ you _ the Cisco kid, no?” 

“No!” Madison giggled. “I’m  _ Panchita _ !” 

Madison shoved Parker aside to talk to her new, trustworthy friend, and Parker stood, in shock, the only one in the group not laughing. He felt like he was still in some surreal dream, in which his father was in the clutches of a man twice his size--probably the culprit to his beaten-up face--and yet he was  _ laughing _ , as if these two were old friends of his from long ago. Something didn’t seem right about the way his younger sister skipped around the other man, who was clapping and cheering her on. He felt alienated, missing out on the joke, started to chuckle awkwardly. 

Stump man walked over to him when the laughter died out, put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it just a little too tight.

“Now, then, seems like we’re ready for our hike, aren’t we?”

Parker looked over to his father, who stood in unison with the large man who still had a hand around his shoulder. Parker saw as his hands flexed open, color returned to the white of his knuckles.

“Maddy, why don’t you go get Nina?” 

“But Daddy, Nina’s still sleepin! She won’t wake up till we come back from our hike!” 

“I think Nina would  _ love  _ to come along on this one,” their father prodded.

“ _ Nina?”  _ Log-man growled, Nick couldn’t help but grimace as his shoulder was pinched. “Who’s ‘Nina?’”

“My birthday present from Daddy!” Madison told the large man proudly. “You wanna see?”

“Oh...I’d  _ love  _ to, sweetheart,” Stump man chimed in, bending down to speak to Madison. “Why don’t you show me where Nina is sleeping?”

“Right here, in the tent!” Madison grabbed the man’s hand, started leading him towards the tent.

“Parker, why don’t you go get Nina,” Nick quickly suggested. “And make sure she’s got  _ everything  _ packed in her bag?  _ Especially _ a spare shirt. You might need one, too. Maddy, c’mere.”

Parker scoffed, as his father clutched onto Madison tightly, she playfully wrapped herself in his father’s open shirt. Why did  _ he  _ have to go into the tent on this errand?

And why did his father’s “friend” follow him into the tent?

Parker scoped the tent, what did his father mean by “everything?” Madison had things  _ everywhere _ \--how did such a small girl even have all of these little things with her? Did his father emphasize “everything” in such a way to tell him  _ not  _ to pack every little thing? 

He grabbed one of her flannel shirts, stuffed it into her bag. 

_ You might need one, too _ .

Parker grabbed one of his own flannel shirts, that he had packed but not worn, having been more comfortable in his hoodie. Seems like his father would have more of a use for his shirt at this point, anyway.

“You almost done there, boy?” 

Parker shuddered, quickly grabbed the packed bag and nodded. He exited the tent quickly, feeling the warm breath of stump-man on his neck, and threw Nina to Madison.

“There we go, everything’s in there,” Parker told his father, held up his spare shirt. “Got my shirt, too.”

“You sure that’s yours? Looks like one of mine.”

“See for yourself,” Parker shrugged, tossed the shirt to his father. He caught it, keeping eye contact with the man behind Parker, and Parker noticed that the cuff of his shirt was unbuttoned, the wristband he normally wore around his wrist was gone. His eyes darted down to the ground, it was at his father’s feet, with a small pile of buttons--probably from his father’s shirt.

Evidence. 

He was leaving evidence.

Something was  _ definitely  _ not right. 

“You never said, Dad,” Parker started, his nostrils flared, inhaled short bursts as a fire spread through his body. “What happened to your face?”

“Oh, your old man, he--he…” Stump man laughed, put an arm around Parker’s shoulder in a casual manner that made Parker sick to his stomach. “He quite literally  _ ran  _ into us, we all bumped our heads--but he ran into a tree.” 

“And tripped,” Log man chortled. 

“Speaking of your old man--Pancho, my good ol’ pal, you sure you’ve got everything? Want to make sure we don’t  _ lose  _ anything?” 

His father released Madison, nostrils flared on his own face. The features on his face narrowed, fist clenched tight again.

“Let’s go,” he barked, and began to lead the group through the forest, into a direction Parker was unfamiliar with. 

“Little girl, want a piggyback ride?” Log man asked, though it wasn’t really a question--He was already picking up Madison by the time he finished “asking,” though Madison seemed thrilled to be up so high.

His father was at the front of the group, followed by stump-man, and then Parker. Log man followed behind them all, Madison on his shoulders, who chattered excitedly about being “as high as the birds!” 

Parker saw his father dropping more buttons every so often along the way, wondered and feared where they were being led to. Buried treasure, perhaps? Or a kill site? Parker’s thoughts spiraled into the horror stories of trails of tears and death marches, wondered if he was walking down a similar path. 

“Park, you got the map?” his father called back after an hour of walking. Parker jumped at the opportunity, brushed past stump man and dug the crumpled map pamphlet out of his bag.

“Do you have my knife?” his father hissed as he purposefully made extra noise in handling the map. Parker shook his head, his heart sunk. 

“Shit…” his father muttered, pretended to examine the map. 

“Something wrong,  _ buddy _ ?” Stump man asked, barging in between the father and son.

“No. We need to go in  _ that-- _ ” his father pointed between the trees, at the cliff sides in the horizon. “--direction.”

“Through the mountains?” Madison asked cheerfully.

“Yeah. Through the mountains.”

“Sounds dangerous. Sounds like somebody could  _ fall _ ,” Stump man pointed out, staring at his father in the face.

“We’ve got rope. Everyone will be  _ safe _ . Stokes honor.” Nick sneered back, not in a friendly manner.

“Let’s get going, then.”

Stump man pushed his father forward, with such force that he almost fell to the ground, before catching himself on a nearby tree. 

“You never told me your name,” Parker noted as he saw his father drop two more buttons, prompting a distraction before the other two men noticed. He was probably almost out, they would have to get Madison’s shirt out somehow.

“Theodore. But you can call me Teddy,” Stump man identified himself. “Friend back there is Petey.”

“So, how do you know my father, Teddy?” 

“Our college days. Your father was quite the frat boy, doing all sorts of dares…” Teddy mused, though all Parker heard was the flies buzzing around the pile of shit that he was spewing. His father had shown him a picture of his fraternity, and Teddy was not one of his frat brothers.

They continued walking, the wheels on Parker's head spinning so fast he thought his brain was going to catch on fire. Nick kept trying to educate them, pointed out the plants that were safe to eat, as Madison began to complain about being hungry. He was confused, as to why his father was trying to act like everything was okay, like this was a normal hiking excursion. 

Another hour--or perhaps even two--passed by, the group was silent as they began to hike up a small incline, reached a landing spot before trekking up an even steeper incline. His father paused the group on the landing, pretended to study the map as he removed the remainder of Parker’s shirt buttons.

“You know, your father was such a little daredevil back in the day, almost like Evel Knievel,” Teddy proclaimed in a loud tone, as he removed the backpack from his father’s back. 

“Hey, you can’t do that, that’s Daddy’s!” Madison protested, astounded that Teddy was able to just take the backpack from their father.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay! I can do whatever I want to your Daddy, thanks to a little...agreement we made back in the day...Isn’t that right, Pancho?” 

“Right,” his father replied through gritted teeth.

“Anyway, as I was saying…” Teddy unzipped the backpack, took out the rope Nick had packed inside.

“Your father is so skilled, I bet he could even walk through this trail with his hands tied behind his back!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can see, I added another chapter to the chapter count...this fic might be getting longer than I anticipated with what I've got planned...


	5. Everything to Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to lose, everything to lose. Two sides of the same coin flipping and flipping and flipping in Nick’s head, two trains of thoughts, of terrible premonitions of just how badly things could get messed up if he wasn’t careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this with like, every whumpy fic I write, but this chapter might go down as the whumpiest thing I've ever written. Enjoy.

He thought he’d be used to this by now. He should feel right at home, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. His own gun, this time, though he grimly reminded himself that it wasn’t the first time he’s been at its mercy, albeit this time, it was attached to someone else’s hand and not his own. But maybe it was because he wasn’t the only one under gunpoint, by extension, his children were also under the same threat, even if they weren’t physically there. A package deal, Nick dies, they die too.

There was a throbbing sensation in his head, a small sting, as the world teetered on a see-saw. He most certainly had a concussion, it was hard to form full sentences, full questions in his head, hard to draw out words from his deep within his throat. Any words of defiance, any futile pleading, was muffled, anyway, as Nick swallowed the bland taste of threaded cotton. Black cotton, it was definitely Parker’s beanie. 

“You see, my friend and I...we’re a little lost.” 

Nick continued to struggle against the giant hand that clasped his wrists together, another hand stuffing the fabric into his mouth. He tried to shake his head, shake it out of his mouth, but it just earned more suffocation, as the fabric was shoved deeper into his mouth, so deep, it almost triggered his gag reflex. His nostrils widened, loudly and furiously inhaling and exhaling, overcompensated, as he panicked, feared that he was going to run out of air. 

“And it seems like you know your way around pretty well, so we’d like you to guide us out of this place.”

 _Pretty shitty way of asking for directions_ , is what Nick would say if he was able to talk. The details of the man in front of him was coming into focus, he was dressed in a soiled inmate uniform, based on the dulled, vibrant colors of his pants. A prison convict, on the run. He seemed vaguely familiar to Nick, though most criminals in prisons often do to him, even if he had no part of their case.

 _And if I don’t?_ The anticipated, unasked question, but the convict seemed to have an answer for that.

“If you don’t help us, then we’ll kill your little _Panchitos_ ...although, not without a little _fun_ with them first.” 

Nick _seethed_ as he realized, not only did these assholes ambush him, they were _waiting_ to ambush him, they stalked him, for god knows how long. Stalked him and _his children._

The beanie was taken out of his mouth, an opportunity to answer. An opportunity to act. Nick’s untethered fury finally had a voice, and he was going to tell them, he was going to show them, what happens when somebody even _thinks_ about hurting his children.

“They’ll know something’s wrong,” he reasoned. His mind ran through scenarios, of escaping the hold he was locked into, of waking up his kids and getting them to run off for help. “They’ll run off, go get help.”

“Then you’ll have to make them believe everything’s okay,” the convict sneered, prodded the cold metal of the gun into Nick’s forehead with every word. He was coming more and more into focus, Nick sized him up, he could easily take him down. “They’re kids, they’ll believe anything you tell them. Trust me, I have _a lot_ of experience with children…”

Nick let out a cold, cruel laugh, leaned his head closer to the gun. 

“You stupid motherfucker, my kids are smarter than that. You’re not gonna get away with this--” Nick began, his voice raised, ready to scream out to his kids to wake up, to run--but his body was swiveled around to face the giant brute of a man that was restraining him, he felt how large the man’s hands were, yet didn’t expect him to be so _tall_ , so _thick_ , so imposing. The brawn of the operation, and Nick knew he didn’t stand a chance as the hand that previously bundled his wrists together balled up into a fist that connected with his jaw, stunned him, knocked him to the ground. 

Not appreciating the sensation of being on his back, Nick rolled to the side as he tried to reset his jaw, rolled onto the arm that burned from the bruising of the giant man’s grip, but he was rolled back over by the giant man, who used his foot to pin Nick to the ground. Nick tried to lift away the foot, but it just pressed against his chest harder, his fingers kept sliding off of the shoe as he struggled to stop it from crushing his chest altogether. Nick held the ankle, gritted his teeth as he squirmed, his legs kicked the air.

“My friend here will squash you like the bug you are if you don’t shut up and speak when spoken to, understood?” Smaller convict bent down and shoved the gun into the side of Nick’s cheek. 

Nick removed his hand from the foot and used it to bat away the gun, which earned a punch to his eye.

“ _Understood?_ ” the man repeated as his eye swelled and stung. But Nick didn’t stop struggling. His vision impaired, he reached half-blindly for the man, who backed away _just_ out of Nick’s grasp. Giant man increased the pressure of his foot harder, Nick gasped out for air.

“You know, the more you fight, the harder it’ll be to explain to your kids why Daddy’s so beaten up,” The smaller man mused. “Let me just remind you...we have _nothing_ to lose. You, on the other hand…”

The man moved the gun towards the tent, Nick froze, his heart stopped its flight around his chest, sank beneath him.

“You have _everything_ to lose.” 

Nick weighed his options, realized he was truly beaten. Even if he could fend off both men on his own, which, in this moment seemed _very_ unlikely given his current position, if he made one wrong move, that trigger would be pulled, the tent would be shot at, the world was distorted, swirling and spinning, but the trajectory of the bullet _out of his own gun_ was clear as day. One of, or both of his children would get shot.

He could run, get the men to chase him, lead them far away from the campsite, he’d be leaving the kids behind, but at least they would be safe...but there were two men, and one of them would surely give Nick chase, and the other would go after the kids. Maybe he could find a way to incapacitate one of the men, engage the other in a fight.

They wanted to leave the forest, and so Nick could lead them out of the forest, to the cliff’s edge...he could push one of them off the edge, fight the other, the kids could go get help...

With a vague plan in mind, Nick stopped struggling, submitted, at least for the time being. His hands dropped to the ground, and the gun was lowered along with his actions, but the threat still hung in the air. Giant man lifted his foot off of his chest, but one of his hands reached down and grabbed Nick’s shirt, lifted him up off the ground. Smaller man handed the gun to the giant man, patted Nick down, took out his phone and wallet, walked over and sat on the log stump they had ambushed Nick on just a few minutes ago.

Nick knew he wouldn’t remember, with the throbbing concussion, but made a mental note to cancel his credit cards and cell phone given the first chance, should this man escape with all of his information.

“Nick Stokes…” the smaller man read off of Nick’s ID card as he perused his wallet. “Hmm...name sounds a bit familiar…”

“Don’t that crazy little loon talk about a man with that name all the time at lunch?” the giant man offered as he sat Nick down on the log bench by the fire pit, digging the gun into Nick’s side as he put an arm over his shoulder. He grimaced, the pain in his face intensified under the rising sun through the trees, but as he looked down, he saw one of his shirt buttons on the ground. It must have gotten loose, and then fell off after the giant’s manhandling.

“Oh yeah, that Crane dude!” smaller man exclaimed, and Nick felt a fire spread through his body, his veins working overtime as he tried to focus on his developing plan of leaving evidence behind, instead of haunting memories of ghosts from his past. “God, what a little creep that man was.” 

The irony of that statement, as Nick started to remember reading a report about a scummy child molester, Theodore Gremon (he memorized the names of _all_ of the molesters), that matched the description of the man in front of him, and another report about a mass murderer who had gone on a rampage, killing multiple people with just his bare hands, matching the description of the man who was handling him--Peter...something, Nick couldn’t seem to remember the last name. Two men with absolutely nothing to lose.

“Your little girl is a cute one,” Theodore cooed as he looked at the lock-screen on Nick’s phone. “And such a skinny boy, you oughta feed that boy some more meat, get him some protein. Petey over here could just snap him like a twig.”

A painful reminder, that he had _everything to lose_.

It became a mantra in his head, one that kept him on that brink, of just _unleashing_ his anger on the sick man who threatened to commit an unspeakable crime on his own daughter, of the terrible monster that could just pulverize his son. Nick’s hands shook with rage as he fiddled with the buttons on his shirt cuffs, dropped his wristband on the ground, in the hopes that the CSI who would inevitably arrive to this site, hopefully because of an investigation over his disappearance rather than his death, would recognize it. But the buttons would be a better indication of that, to the ranger who would most likely be making rounds to check on the campers after receiving news of the escaped prison convicts--though Nick wondered how long it had been since the convicts had escaped, tried to search the haze in his mind for news headlines, but everything was too blurry, inaccessible.

He hunched himself over in the guise of being fraught with emotions, doubled over in pain as he put a hand to his head, but really, he was trying to gather more buttons. 

“Don’t worry, little man, we won’t hurt them,” Peter mockingly consoled him.

“Just listen to what we say, do as we say, and you and your kids will be fine,” Theodore reassured.

 _Men with nothing to lose_ , Nick kept reminding himself. _Not to be trusted._

Nothing to lose, everything to lose. Two sides of the same coin flipping and flipping and flipping in Nick’s head, two trains of thoughts, of terrible premonitions of just how _badly_ things could get fucked up if he wasn’t careful.

Nick clenched his teeth tight as they all looked to the tent, having heard the rustling as his children most likely woke up. Nick could see a small opening in the window of the tent, most likely the children trying to figure out what the commotion outside was about.

“Well, good morning, sleepy head! Don’t be shy, now, c’mon out here!”

Seconds silence, the gun dug harder into Nick’s side. 

_You’ll have to make them believe everything’s okay_ , an echo from earlier words spoken.

“It’s okay, Park. Get your bag ready...We’re going on a hike.”

He knew his words probably had not added much comfort, unable to hide the displeasure in having to lie to his kids. To tell them that “it’s okay,” when it was very much _not_.

“Don’t forget your sister, too!” Theodore added, which made Nick’s face twist into a snarl.

All cards on the table, all players present as the kids emerged from the tent, cautious, sensing the tension of the campsite. Nick felt a surge of pride, as his proclamation of how smart his children were proved to be true, but felt sadness, as he would have to keep lying, keep the calm.

Madison was the easiest to convince, Theodore had no problem winning her over, souring the sanctity of their private nicknames, contagious laughter spread because whenever Madison smiled, whenever she laughed, the world became a little brighter, and even the most twisted, sick demons of the world would be overcome with joy in the radiant beams of her smile.

Parker would be near impossible to convince, his attention to detail was too great for that, but Nick was comforted by the fact that he knew his son was smart enough to play along, to listen to Nick’s directions. His heart twinged as he realized he would have to instill responsibility on his son, his _far too young_ son to rise up to the challenge when the time came for Nick’s plan of attack. 

He had also seemed to pick up on Nick’s plan of leaving evidence, got the message about the shirt buttons, and as Parker emerged from the tent with the bags, shirt and teddy bear, Nick surreptitiously searched for his pocket knife, which he realized hadn’t been taken off of him, because it wasn’t there. Nick didn’t panic, perhaps Parker had it, he would just have to find a way to ask Parker for the knife, so he could slice Nina open just enough to leave a trail of cotton--Madison would be upset, but Nick would promise her to take Nina to the build-a-bear hospital as soon as they got out of this mess. An idea he borrowed, off a case he investigated _decades_ ago, in which he and the late Detective Lockwood had followed a trail of cotton on their own hike.

“Speaking of your old man--Pancho, my good ol’ pal, you sure you’ve got everything? Want to make sure we don’t _lose_ anything?” 

_Everything to lose,_ the message was loud and clear as Nick began to lead them to the cliffs, trying to drown out the playful chatter from Madison, who was blissfully unaware of the tense situation, as he kept dropping buttons along the way. After enough time had passed, he tried to casually address his son, in a way that would not attract too much suspicion from the convicts.

“Park, you got the map?” 

“Do you have my knife?” his father whispered once Parker was close. Parker shook his head, handed him the map that he had requested. 

“Shit…” Nick muttered, having no other plan to replace that one. The button supply was depleting fast, even though they still had Madison’s shirt, there wouldn’t be enough to leave a straightforward path. He would have to get Parker to pay attention, because his children could also use this path to go back to the rangers--Parker had taken pictures on their way to the campsite, so as long as they reached the campsite, they could find their way back.

“Something wrong, _buddy_?” Theodore asked, barging in between the father and son.

“No. We need to go in _that_ direction.”

“Through the mountains?” Madison asked cheerfully. Nick’s heart sank, knowing that she wouldn’t be this happy once they reached their destination.

“Yeah. Through the mountains.”

“Sounds dangerous. Sounds like somebody could _fall_ ,” Theodore pointed out, and Nick couldn’t tell if it was a threat, or an indication that his plan had been figured out by the brains of the operation.

“We’ve got rope. Everyone will be _safe_. Stokes honor.” Nick retorted, which knew would earn him a “punishment” for attempting to take control.

“Let’s get going, then.”

Theodore pushed him roughly into the tree, Nick used the mini-punishment for his defiance to drop a few more buttons. 

They continued on, Nick kept trying to educate his kids on survival skills, pointed out the funny shaped rocks and trees in an effort to get them to stick out in Parker’s head, as the space between buttons became greater and greater. Eventually they started up a bit of an incline, found themselves on a small landing, an opportunity for a much needed break. He was almost happy that Madison had spent most of their hike on the giant’s shoulders, reserving the energy she was going to need when she and Parker would go get help. He worried slightly about Parker, but Parker was just as good at hiding things, hid his poor endurance from both him and the convicts.

“You know, your father was such a little daredevil back in the day, almost like Evel Knievel,” Theodore proclaimed as he grabbed Nick’s backpack from behind him, which sent a shiver down Nick’s spine. He felt bad that he would no longer let Madison watch that movie again, given that her favorite actor starred in it, but the comparison to him just added to the creep factor as control was robbed from him.

“Hey, you can’t do that, that’s Daddy’s!” Madison protested, and Nick felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Shame, as his kids had to watch him get manhandled.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay! I can do whatever I want to your Daddy, thanks to a little...agreement we made back in the day...Isn’t that right, Pancho?” 

“Right,” Nick gritted his teeth. He couldn’t start the plan now, even if he could knock Theodore down the hill, he would recover quickly. They would have to get higher...

“Anyway, as I was saying…Your father is so skilled, I bet he could even walk through this trail with his hands tied behind his back!” 

_Shit._

A mixture of emotions concocted the nausea that swirled in his stomach, as he was instructed to put his hands behind his back. Anger, as the rope was tightened around his skin, that he was forced to submit to this sick, demented man. Sadness, as his children had to watch him try to watch their father who was far too physically old to be able to achieve such a feat, maneuver the steep hill. Humiliation, that his children who idolized him as an indestructible superhero, were now faced with the evidence that he was just vulnerable and breakable as one of their toys, as he lost his footing and fell flat on his face. His knees scraped the jagged rocks as he slid downward, over and over and over again as they continued the climb. It was already hard to walk in his bound state, but the damage to his knees made it even harder. 

All emotions amplified, as Madison, poor, sweet Madison who had _no idea_ what was truly happening, _laughed_ as her father continued to lose his balance up the steep incline, laughing with every fall. Not only were sacred nicknames spoiled, but now his _own daughter’s laughter_ was associated with this torture.

He was near tears by the time the reached another landing, another rest stop. 

“I think we should take a break,” Parker suggested. He walked over to Nick, who was kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath. For some reason, the two convicts allowed Parker to tend to Nick’s wounds, clearing up some of the fresh blood on his face, the cuts and scrapes under the torn fabric of his clothing. They stood on the other side of the landing, tending to Madison as they “played” and gathered some food--“For snacks, cause I’m getting hungry!” Madison had declared. 

“Parker, these men, they’re...they’re not my friends,” Nick told him in a low voice, once he was positive that they were out of earshot.

“Yeah, _no shit_ , Dad, who are they?” Parker asked worriedly, digging around in his bag for anything else that might help.

“Bad men. Convicts.”

“What do they want?”

“A way out.”

Nick winced as Parker touched his face with a cloth soaked in alcohol, a sharp breath slid through his teeth. Guilt spiked up in his heart as he saw the twinkle of tears in his son’s eyes.

“Listen...I-I have a plan, but we need to get a bit higher for it to work…”

Nick directed his gaze to the cliff at the next landing spot after the next stretch of incline, which wasn’t as steep, almost even resembled stairs. There was a drop that would be more than enough to incapacitate one of the convicts.

“Dad, that...that--that could _kill_ them!” Parker shouted in a whisper, picking up the plan.

“Parker, listen to me, these are _bad_ men,” Nick told him. He looked over to the convicts, wanted to shout at them, but instead huffed in anger as he watched Theodore _fondle_ Madison, in ways no man should touch a little girl. He needed to get the point across to Parker, and he would have rather died than made the situation to Parker as clear as he possibly could.

“Do you remember what I told you a few years back, about the woman who touched me as a kid?” 

Nick felt the pain of a ton of bricks falling on him, as the realization spread across Parker’s face as he looked from his father, to Madison, then back to his father.

“No...no, they-they _can’t_ \--” Parker stuttered, tears flowed freely down his reddened face, he balled up his fists, was about to stand up--Nick wanted to reach out and put a hand on Parker’s shoulder, grab his attention, bring him back down to earth, because an outburst of emotion would make the situation _worse_.

“Park--Parker, listen, _Parker Roger_ , Park--” Nick kept hissing, trying to reign in his son, as Parker stood up. He fell over as he struggled to get back to his feet, bumped into Parker to get his attention in the process. Parker was shaking, but bent down to help his father stand up. Seeing the full body of his father standing taller than him, earned Parker’s attention, his frightful eyes scanned up and down the man he now recognized as his father, instead of the previously hurt man he was helping on the same level as him. 

“ _Listen to me,_ ” Nick emphasized, lowered himself to keep direct eye contact with his son. “As soon as I give the signal, you’re gonna take Maddy and _run._ Keep running, and don’t stop, no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, until you find help, okay?”

“But...but who’s gonna help you?” 

“Don’t worry about me, worry about Maddy, okay?” 

“I-I’m scared, Dad,” Parker sobbed in protest, and Nick’s struggled to keep his face from melting, from softening. He needed to keep firm, needed to make sure Parker wouldn’t crack further under the pressure.

“ _Good_. Use that fear, when it comes to it, your body is going to feel like it’s on fire, that’s your fuel, that’s going to keep you and Madison going. Think...Think of it like a video game, okay? One of your escort missions or whatever.”

Parker nodded, his body continued to twitch with every hitched sob that he tried to suppress. Nick wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around his son, embrace him, shield him from this terrible situation, but instead his heart broke as he knew he was asking far too much of him. Nick pressed his forehead against Parker’s, could taste the tears that transferred from Parker’s face into his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Park,” Nick whispered to him, as Parker clutched onto his dad’s clothing. “I love you, I’m so sorry.”

He looked back at Madison and the convicts, who still weren’t really paying attention to Parker and Nick’s secret meeting. Nick shielded Parker from their view anyway, muttered instructions on where to go, what to tell the park rangers, words of comfort as Parker started to compose himself again. 

Once enough time had passed and Nick felt that Parker was sufficiently prepared--well, as prepared as a fifteen year old boy who was about to run away as his dad committed a potential murder could be--he beckoned over the group, encouraged them to keep going up the hill to the next incline. More falls, more scrapes, a few “playful” pushes from Theodore and Peter, more tainted giggles from Madison, though Nick was trying to memorize her smiling face into his head, in case he would never see it again. 

Finally, they made it up to the next landing, Nick thought of every single word of every single threat that had been laid on him, thought of Parker and Madison, thought of all the unspeakable crimes that had landed the two convicts in prison, to build up the necessary amount of rage inside of him to execute his plan.

 _You have everything to lose_ , he reminded himself.

The last thing Nick Stokes heard was Madison’s screams.


	6. Humpty Dumpty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keep Maddy safe. Keep Maddy safe. Keep Maddy safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you...  
> (Parker gets just a Little Hurt in this one)

“What are you waiting for?” Parker whispered to his father, who was standing still and silent, though one of his eyes twitched. Parker wondered if time had stopped, if maybe he was actually in a video game, as everyone else seemed to have become idle as they stood around, waiting for the storm that was about to overtake the cliff’s landing. Maybe somebody hit pause, maybe this was just some dream. Maybe they had never actually left for the camping trip, and any minute now, Parker would wake up in bed, greet his boyfriend with a morning selfie. 

If only he were so lucky, as he remembered reading that delayed responses and dazed states were symptoms of a concussion--a topic which he had done extensive research about after the last one his father had. He snapped his fingers in front of his father’s eyes, he didn’t even flinch. Lost in his mind, a state of dissociation, he stared out past the trees and rocks ahead of them. Behind him, Teddy kept his attention alternating between Nick and Parker, and Petey and Madison--Madison was taking inventory of her bag, stuffed Nina inside--“It’s her nap time!”

Perhaps he needed a trigger, something to set the plan in motion, or maybe the plan was changing, since his hands were still tied behind his back. 

Parker could help. Maybe he could untie his father’s hands--no, he wouldn’t be able to do it quick enough before the bad men noticed. Maybe he could just take off now--no, that would pit two men against one, and there’s a chance his father couldn’t survive that. 

Maybe he could lead one of the men to the cliff’s edge, enact part of his father’s plan himself. Or cause a distraction, one that could allow his father to gain the upper hand…

He took the phone out of his pocket, walked toward the edge of the cliff, and pretended to take a selfie, which earned him the attention of Teddy, his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. He marched over to Parker, anger layered in his voice. 

“Where did you get  _ that _ , boy?” 

Parker shoved the phone back into his pocket as Teddy grabbed his sweatshirt, shook Parker. 

“What did you just do, you little brat?” 

He shook Parker some more, but Parker sealed his lips tight, backed them closer to the edge, getting ready to turn himself in an attempt to throw Teddy off, when-- _ SMACK! _

Parker’s head snapped to the side, the impact was so strong, he felt it in his teeth. His glasses were knocked off of his face, bounced off of a nearby rock. Tears flooded his vision, he didn’t see the reaction it enticed out of his father.

His cheek burned, it stung, it  _ hurt like hell _ , but it worked. 

The plan was in motion.

And all hell broke loose.

Parker ducked downward and dove for his fallen glasses, smashed them onto his face with the palm of his hand as his father suddenly sprung into motion, lunged forward after the harm inflicted on his son, and knocked Teddy down--not quite off the cliff, but just enough for him to tumble and  _ almost  _ fall--Parker saw him go over the edge, but also saw his hand clinging on to the ledge as Petey then sprung into action, to pull Nick back--he was trying to stomp on Teddy’s hand--but Parker was more focused on his sister, who froze in the commotion, he stumbled over to her, engulfed her and began to  _ run,  _ as fast and as hard as he could--his legs burned and cramped, his heart pounded rapidly against his chest. A crack in his glasses displaced the earth, everything was uneven, he struggled to keep balance. 

A whirlwind of dueling screams, his father’s and his sister’s, that would haunt him for the rest of his life, interrupted by a sharp gunshot, but even then, Parker couldn’t let himself get distracted.  _ Keep Maddy safe. Keep Maddy safe. Keep Maddy safe. _

They made it to the next landing beneath them, and Parker shot a glance behind him, saw  _ just enough  _ to make him want to scream, too. His father’s arms were bent in the absolute wrong direction, behind his head, Petey was holding him by the rope that bound his hands together, Teddy was crawling over the ledge--Nick was still trying to kick Teddy away, despite the loud screams that stretched out the skin that covered the veins extruding from his neck--Parker caught Petey’s eye for just a split second--

“DADDY, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

Madison must have looked back, too.

“GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE SHITS!” Petey dropped Nick, started to chase after the kids, Parker felt the hairs on the back of his neck, his legs, his arms stick up in all directions as he and Madison nearly fell down the incline, his foot slipped, he landed on his back and they began to slide down the inclines.

Madison flailed in his arms, he tightened his grip so tight that he thought she might pop. The slide was not a fun one, was not smooth, his body ricocheted like a pinball. He was certain that his back was at least bruised, if not scratched from all the jagged rocks, but his body was already on fire, his father’s words echoed in his head, told him to  _ use  _ that fire, he felt the pain numb itself, running on fumes exhaling deep from within his chest, his body could hardly keep up with himself.

“PARKER, STOP IT, LET ME GO! DADDY!  _ DADDY! _ ” Madison screamed once they slid down the final incline. 

They got to the bottom of the hill and Parker dropped Madison, grabbed her hand before she even had time to react, and  _ sprinted  _ in the direction that he vaguely remembered that they came from. All of the trees looked the same, all the rocks, he didn’t have time to look down at the ground for the buttons, plans be damned, they needed to get  _ the hell out of there _ \--he looked behind him, Petey was still lumbering down the mountain--ahead of them the ground seemed to sink in, a large step in the forest, they hopped down and slid backward into an alcove--his back slammed against the packed dirt wall--felt something soft, like sand, land on top of his head, something sharp struck the back of his head, he let out a grunt as he put his hand over Madison’s mouth to stop her from screaming.

And then, silence, save for his heavy, labored breathing as his breath caught up to him.

And then, stomping, leaves and twigs crunching under the giant’s feet, Increasing in speed, increasing in volume.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

Madison looked up at Parker, who pressed a finger from his free hand to his lips, shook his head. He felt the air from her intense breathing on his hand, her moist lips fight against his skin.

“Humpty dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty dumpty had a big fall…”

Parker felt something crawl up his back, sent his body into an involuntary spasm. He was momentarily transported to his kindergarten classroom, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to a happy little girl with pigtails, clapping along to the nursery rhyme. 

“All the king’s horses, and all the king’s men, couldn’t put your little, broken Daddy back together again.”

And then, Madison’s muffled cries and whimpers, hidden under the booming laughter from the giant man.

A pause, in the crunching of the earth, after one final  _ STOMP _ . A trickle of dirt from the ceiling above the two Stokes children, landed in Madison’s hair. Parker pressed his hand against Madison’s mouth with more force, bit down on his lower lip as he waited for the ceiling to come crashing down, for the earth to swallow them whole--he felt blood trickle down his chin, he wondered if his father felt this scared when  _ he  _ was buried alive.

The crunching started again, but moved further and further away. Soon, the crunching stopped altogether, Parker let out the air that was trapped in his chest in a low, raspy exhale, but he stayed on the cautious side--though Madison began to wriggle in his hold.

“Mads, stay still, just a bit longer--”

Her moist lips spread from the center of his hand to top and bottom of his palm, he felt a pinch, held down a yelp as the pinch grew more intense--

“Madison, what the  _ fuck! Stop it!”  _ Parker cried out in a loud whisper, jostled her in his grip to shock her, but she wouldn’t give up, until something  _ wet  _ coated his hand, that wasn’t just saliva--

He released his hand and Madison fell out of his arms, she crawled backwards, spit to the ground.

“You  _ bit me! _ ” Parker gasped, stared at his bleeding hand.

" _Y_ _ou left Daddy_ !” Madison growled fiercely, though tears were streaming down her face. She slowly peeked over the top of their little hiding spot, Parker grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, Madison frowned and twisted her way out. 

“We need to go back and help him! Petey’s gone--” 

“Mads, it’s not safe--”

“He needs our help--”

“He needs us to go  _ get  _ help--”

“It’s okay, I got a knife--”

“And needs us to stay safe--you HAVE A WHAT?” 

Madison pulled out their father’s knife from her pocket.

“Where on earth did you get that?” Parker exclaimed, reached out to take it, but she held it back from him.

“I took it from Daddy after you won hide and seek, saying I didn’t ‘pay attention enough!’” Madison stuck her tongue out at her brother. “Now, you can sit here and cry while  _ I  _ go save Daddy!”

“Well, maybe if you paid more attention, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Parker growled, grabbing her arm again, though she resisted, pulled him up with her as they exited the alcove. 

Madison’s mouth gaped open in shock, he collided into her, almost fell on top of her in the sudden movement and halt. His back froze up in pain, he grimaced, but Madison seemed to have no sympathy.

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” 

“If you were paying attention, you’d have seen that Petey and Teddy are bad, bad, men!” 

Madison’s chin wobbled.

“They wanted to hurt  _ you _ , touch  _ you _ \--” Parker emphasized, jabbed a finger into her chest.

“Stop it…”

“They were going to take you into that tent and put you on your back--you know how Dad doesn’t like to be on  _ his  _ back? They were going to  _ touch _ you--Then, they were going to take you away, far, far away from me, away from Dad--”

“Y-You’re scaring me, Parkerrr!” Madison whined, backing away as Parker advanced on her.

“GOOD! You should be scared!”

“You promised to protect--”

“No,  _ you  _ promised! A-and Dad was trying to protect us, protect  _ you _ , but you couldn’t pick up on the cues, that we needed to get out of there! Dad had a plan, and you  _ ruined  _ it!”

The chin wobbles turned into shaky breath, the shaky breath turned into a whine, to sobs. 

“Now, come on, we’re going back to the ranger station, we’re going to get help.”

Parker began to walk away, so blind in his anger that he didn’t even care to notice that he had no idea where they were. He was almost ten feet away when he realized the only footsteps in the forest were his own, he turned back and saw that Madison had not moved, her face was a waterfall of tears that streamed in between her fingers that she had pressed against her face. 

Parker’s back ached, but not as much as his heart. He felt bad for snapping at her, she didn’t deserve that. He walked over to her, pressed her body against his, let her soak his hoodie with her tears as she pounded on his back, unaware that she was causing more damage. 

“You...you promised…” her muffled voice kept muttering.

“I’m sorry, Mads. I’m sorry. C-can you please stop hitting my ba-a-aaaaack?”

Madison stopped her assault on his back, her fists turning into flat hands that felt the bumps and welts, even though the fabric of his sweatshirt. 

“Your...your back...Park, I--” Madison began, having pulled out of the embrace to look at her brother’s pained face.

“It’s okay,” Parker sniffled, brushed the hair out of her face, wiped the tears from her eyes. “I can take it.”

He pulled her back into his arms, stroked her hair gently, stared into the direction he  _ thought  _ they came from, the echoes of his father’s screams still ringing in his ears.

“I can take it.”


	7. Shirt Buttons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She held the wristband in her hand, flipped over, the foul taste in her mouth dissipated into her stomach, swirled and churned until she thought they were going to spill out of her mouth. The wristband was embroidered with a star, a familiar star, a guiding star that always kept her grounded. 
> 
> “I know him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an out of genre experience for me, writing completely outside of the usual POVs I'm used to writing so uh...I hope you all enjoy!

It was all hands on deck. Two dangerous criminals on the loose seemed to entice a dark wave of crime to spread over San Diego, regardless of the attempt at recovery after the San Diego Stalker fiasco. Call outs and false alarms alike kept the San Diego Crime Lab busy, between piling lab work and reports, and strenuous field work. 

She was tired, more than tired--she was _exhausted,_ but she was the closest to the camping ground, so she clocked in her first triple shift and volunteered to scout out the area. There was only _suspicion_ of a missing person--or rather, missing persons, potentially three. 

“Park ranger was doing his rounds, noticed an empty campsite,” her supervisor, Sara Sidle had informed her when she gave her the call. 

“Not unusual, maybe they went on a hike?”

“He thought so too, but given the time of day, and with the escaped convicts, he called it in. Said he had fanned the area with no sign of them. I’m sorry, I know it was supposed to be your night off…”

“It’s fine. Better safe than sorry.”

“Call me if you find anything. And be careful.”

“Okay, boss, you too.”

After a long, silent drive fighting the effects of highway hypnosis with blasting music, she finally arrived at the campsite. She checked in with Sara via text, to let her know that she made it to the scene, a precaution after all the stalker action--though this was not an old practice, it was one that was in place before she even became an intern. A patrol car directed her to the parking lot, which was nearly filled with cars. A long weekend, lots of people camping. With barely any reception in the area, she wondered if they even knew about the fugitives.

She was escorted by the idle cop through the forest, deep into the woods, after passing through a designated recreational campground, amidst whispers and stares. The walk was long, she wondered just exactly these three people had supposedly wanted to do so deep into the woods. Two people, she could understand, perhaps the desire to get away, isolate themselves to each other and no one else...then again, some people do enjoy three’s company.

She had to hug her kit to her body as she squeezed through a narrow passageway that led them into a clearing, where she found a pitched tent and a park ranger. 

“Ranger Jim Hopper,” the burly uniformed man greeted her as she walked up to the site with her flashlight and kit.

“CSI Cassie McBride,” she introduced herself, shook the man’s hand and set her kit down. She put on a pair of gloves and began to survey the area. She held up a hand to the ranger who had opened his mouth to talk, wanted to get a feel for the scene before she heard the story. She first looked inside the tent, saw three sleeping bags--two adult sized, and one child sized. Enough for a family. 

She heaved a long, heavy sigh and nodded in acknowledgement of the situation. Not only was this a potential missing persons case, but it was a _family_ , the exact flavor of cases that left a foul taste in her mouth, scratched at her neck.

“Why don’t we begin at the beginning, what made you make the call?” she cleared her throat and nodded for the ranger to start telling the same information, from a different point of view than Sara had given her over an hour beforehand, and continued to do a preliminary walkthrough of the area.

“There were five parties that went off-site camping, I made a point to check in with each one of them, advise them on the situation with the fugitives, to either leave or move to the designated recreational camping area.” 

“Safety in numbers…” Cassie muttered, walked over to the log by the inactive fire pit. Though numbers didn’t seem to make a difference, if all three members of the campsite were gone.

“I’ve known them all for years, too, they all come and go rather frequently, which I why I don’t mind lettin’ them camp off-site, you know? Never seem to cause much trouble, keep the forests clean…”

The ranger rambled on as Cassie crouched down, noticing a small pile of plastic buttons--shirt buttons. Four of them, far too many to just have fallen off of a shirt. Contrived, like somebody _placed_ them there. Next to it, a black wristband, a dark, wet stain visible in the spotlight of her flashlight.

“We’ve got the Chesters, the Ortollins, Benetts, Wheelers and--”

“Stokes?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

She held the wristband in her hand, flipped over, the foul taste in her mouth dissipated into her stomach, swirled and churned until she thought they were going to spill out of her mouth. The wristband was embroidered with a star, a familiar star, a guiding star that always kept her grounded. 

“I know him.” 

Not only was this a missing family, it was the missing family of her boss’ boss, of a man who got her the job in the first place, a man she trusted more than anybody in her life.

She stood up, held the wristband with the tip of her fingers--she could envision the owner’s hand branching out through it, her eyes walked up his arm to his face, his bearded face, creased with wrinkles. The same expression, hardened with determination, but also that softness, that kindness, that she always sought out in her walk down memory lane. He was an admirable man, a damn good lab director--not that she really had anyone to compare him to in that aspect--but also a ghost of her childhood, the only ghost that offered her any comforts during restless nights and those specific cases that just seemed to strike a nerve in her like no other. 

Like this one. 

She shook away the image, took out the radio clipped to her belt and began to walk away after she excused herself. 

“Sara, it’s Cassie...Listen, uh...this missing persons case…”

“That was quick, what, did they show back up?” 

“No, uhm…” 

A deep, shaky breath, as the image of her ghost began to walk, then run through the woods, accompanied by the children she recalls meeting a while back, the ones plastered in pictures all over his office, all over his desk.

“What’d you find, Cass, is everything okay?”

“The missing persons, they’re...It’s Nick and his family.”

Silence, and Cassie looked to the ground as she felt the weight of her words sink in on both ends of the call. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted a shirt button on the ground. 

“I’ll be right there.” 

The radio was filled with chatter, a call to arms for everyone to head to Cassie’s location, and Cassie continued walking forward instead of heading back, having spotted another button a few feet away on the ground. Of course he would find a way to leave a trail, and in the absence of gum drops, shirt buttons would have to do. 

* * *

They had never been the type to do so, never quite had the level of friendship to constitute an arrangement such as this, a meeting between two colleagues who had not worked together in over two decades. Perhaps it was their old age, the looming approach of a possible end to life that made him pick up the phone, that made him answer it. 

“This...this is a little weird, you know?” Jim Brass muttered, fiddled with the paper from his straw. “Never saw us as the type to...reconnect after all these years. Thought I’d never see you again, to be quite honest. Surprised when you called.”

He shook with a twisted smirk on his face, a muffled chuckle behind his sealed lips. He leaned back in the booth casually, his eyebrows raised.

“Still the silent type, huh?” 

A witty comeback mulled over in his head, danced around on his tongue, but he didn’t feel like being cheeky, not when the reason he had made that call hung in the air between them.

He cleared his throat, his mouth gaped open his eyes couldn’t meet the man in front of him. Leaned forward, feeling displaced, this conversation was better suited at the desk in his office, not in a diner. 

“I meant to call, after Ellie,” Gil Grissom finally spoke, his throat feeling suddenly dry. Regrets of things he could have said, things he could have done. “Sara and I...we weren’t talking much at the time, but she did...she told me about it.”

“Yeah, well…” Brass took his water, drank it until it was nearly gone. “I know you would have...You would have been there, if you could. Didn’t want to press Sara, you know? Cath couldn’t make it either.”

Silence overcame them. To Grissom, it wasn’t an awkward silence, rather one of reflection, understanding. The regrets weren’t worth the trouble, not anymore. 

Eyes drifted, reading the headline on the television in the corner, two escaped convicts from the local prison. A thought filed in the back of his head, Sara probably wouldn’t be home at her usual time. 

“Ended up working for her, for a little bit, after she came back to Vegas,” Brass brought up, directed Grissom’s attention away from the monitor.

A raised eyebrow, a puzzled expression cracked a smile on Brass’ face.

“Head of security at her casino. Couple explosions later, figured I’d settle for the quiet life.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“Bored out of my damn mind. You?”

“I have a boat,” Grissom shrugged. His phone buzzed, it was Sara calling him. He didn’t want to be rude, he ignored the call. 

“Oh, you do, now, huh?”

“Could go out on it sometime,” Grissom offered. 

“Spend time reminiscing on the good ol’ days, huh?” Brass remarked.

Grissom couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

His phone rang again, this time, garnered Brass’ attention.

“Trouble in paradise?” Brass asked as Grissom ignored the call once again. 

“No, no, we’ve been...happy. Together. Really...happy…” his voice trailed off as the buzz of the diner faded to a low hum, the volume of the television increased, described how the two felons were thought to have been involved in a missing persons case--a missing _family_ at a campground near the prison.

His phone buzzed, this time, a text message, appeared on the screen, both men looked at it and their hearts sank far beneath the booth.

_It’s Nick._

* * *

The space between the buttons was getting longer and further, the ranger had caught up to her once she thought she reached a dead end. 

“Thought I lost you for a second there, what, you pick up a scent or something?” 

“Something like that...You see these buttons?” 

She directed her flashlight to the ground before waving it around, looking for signs of more ahead.

“I think they may have left those as a trail.”

“You don’t think...those two convicts…”

“I do think,” Cassie replied grimly. “I also think, that they may not have gotten _too_ far, with an older man and his two kids…”

“Why take them? Why not just kill them and rob them?” the ranger asked bluntly, a perfectly normal question to ask in this situation, but the distasteful nature of his words was lost on him.

As she so often did in cases involving young children, Cassie let the world drop around her. She was ten years old again, frightened, hurt, but an instinct was nagging at her mind, telling her that if she had any chance of getting out of this, she would need to leave a piece of herself there, for someone to come and pick up and bring back to her. The world was incredibly large, the forest was thick, the bad guys were trying to escape, they would need a guide. If she was guiding them out, where would she go? 

She saw cliff face through the trees, the buttons on the ground twinkling out in the beam of her light. She followed the trail, imagined the whimpers and cries of Nick’s children, she prayed to anything that would listen that she wasn’t going to find them at the end of this trail, lifeless, on the ground. 

The buttons stopped showing up, but there was only one way to go, up a steep incline. On the first landing they encountered, she found a bullet on the ground, the same type of caliber in her own service weapon. Nick’s gun. The bullet was shot into the ground at an angle, possibly from above?

She looked up, imagined Nick on top of the next landing, aiming his gun down at her. Did he manage to gain the upper hand from the fugitives? 

As they continued up to the next landing, Cassie halted herself and the ranger, as she saw distinct footprints in the dirt of the trail. She directed them on how to avoid them, potential evidence, though these trails were constantly walked on, so who’s to say that it was any indication of the missing party?

The answer to that question, was the blood pool soaked into the dirt near the edge of the cliff. The piece of broken glass near a sharp rock--possibly from Nick’s so fondly dubbed “Dad Glasses”--or wait, didn’t Nick’s son have glasses?--signs of a struggle, that would most definitely lead to a gun being fired off. Maybe the bullet was a misfire, an attempt to gain control, or to redirect the mark.

Drag marks, from the heels of shoes, a faint trail of blood, heading further up the mountain. Small, youth-sized footprints heading down, overlayed by a much larger footprint. 

“Jeez, looks like there was a fight or somethin’...” the ranger observed. 

“I think they got separated,” she declared. “Someone kept going up, someone went back down…”

“Wanna flip a coin over it?” the ranger asked, sensing the question in the air, of which path to go down first.

“I’ll follow the blood, you follow the footprints. I called it in, my supervisor, Sara Sidle should be here soon with the rest of the SDPD. Channel three on the radio.”

“Be careful, McBride.”

“You too. Oh, and the kid’s names--Parker and Madison.”

 _Parker and Madison_. Little Parker, with his glasses and unkempt hair. Little Madison, an eager smile on her face. Splitting image of their father, literally, two sides of the same coin. 

But she needed to find their father himself, the blood seemed fresh, the ground was still damp. Faint echoes of screams and shouts in the air. She drew her weapon and continued up the incline, followed the faint blood trail which was becoming less distinct, more spotted. Another landing, more footprints and scuff marks, but it didn't seem to continue upwards, instead, more towards the edge of the cliff…

She envisioned Nick, struggling with a man with no face dressed in prison clothing, fighting, falling over the edge, through the tree that was broken, its branches on the ground, leaves painted in blood--too much blood to be from one person alone...and then she saw clothing sticking out between the leaves, saw something small... _flesh colored._

“Nick?” She called down, wondered if perhaps there was a body entangled in the branches. She quickly calculated how to get down safely, after the brief consideration of jumping down herself, but then saw that there was a spiraled, narrow trail that lead her off of the mountain to the landing spot. 

Her head spun as she reached the bottom, but dizziness be damned, she began to toss aside the branches, the bloodied bits of clothing she saw from above, but there was no body.

Instead, amidst the bloody pile of dirt, leaves and clothing, she saw a message, one that almost felt like was left for _her_ specifically--but how could he have known that she would be the one here? Then again, the number of people who know their history-- _Nick’s_ history was surprisingly high in the San Diego Crime Lab, especially since his entire life had basically been put on display by one of the most twisted men she had ever encountered. So of course he would leave this as a message, with the one thing that he was probably running low on at this point-- _hope,_ hope that he could somehow survive this, but with the amount of blood, even without knowing whose blood it was...those odds weren’t looking good.

And yet, she felt a surge of determination, a surge of hope within herself that he was _still alive_. A connection, a sense of empathy between two shattered souls held together by the same sticky substance that brought them together in the first place. 

In the absence of shirt buttons, gum drops would have to do.


	8. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is Undersheriff Curtis, everyone return back to base to regroup, the Stokes children have been secured. Repeat, everyone back to base, the Stokes children have been secured. Over.”

“ _ Think of it like a video game, okay? One of your escort missions or whatever. _ ”

The final words his father spoke to him rang in his head to the beat of a tune from one of his favorite video games--an anthem, to keep the adrenaline pumping, to keep his body moving. Having a tune in his head was an odd source of comfort, made him feel more secure, a pillar to lean on as the world was crumbling beneath his feet.

But, no...those weren’t his last words. 

“ _ I love you, I’m so sorry. _ ”

Sorry. He was “sorry.” How could he be sorry, when he didn’t even  _ know  _ what he was going to put his own damn children through? He probably didn’t know how scared they were, how lost. If they all stayed together, they could have had a chance, three against two. 

His fingers felt bloated, it hurt to flex them, but he also didn’t like the feeling of stiffness--he needed to keep moving. His face was covered in sweat, yet his lips felt dry and cracked. Dehydrated, he had given the rest of his water to Madison, and there was no water source in sight--though, he could barely see through his broken glasses, was blindly leading himself and Madison through the impossibly large forest--it didn’t seem this vast with Nick as their guide. 

“I’m  _ tired, _ ” Madison groaned. 

“I know, Mads, I know. I am, too. But we gotta keep going.”

“Are we lost?”

_ Oh yeah, big time. _

“No, I know where we are,” he lied confidently. Lying seemed to be getting easier with the passage of time. Pretending everything is okay when it most certainly is not.

“I feel dizzy, like we’ve been here before.”

They stopped and Parker could see the alcove in the distance, the one they had hid in just minutes ago...or was it hours? Or days? They had gone in a circle, right back where they began.

“Here, let me see your bag…” Parker muttered, spinning his sister around. He took out her spare shirt that he had packed. “Give me the knife.”

He cut off the buttons, dropped one on the ground. 

“Dad was leaving buttons.”

“Like Hansel and Gretel?” Madison asked. Parker smiled in pride, that his sister seemed to pick up what he was literally dropping on the ground as they continued to walk in the opposite direction of the alcove. 

“Exactly like Hansel and Gretel! Maybe whoever picks up on the trail will find us--I’m sure there’s rangers out there looking by now.” 

“Or maybe Daddy will use the trail to find us!” Madison added.

The smile on Parker’s face slid off, his walking slowed as Madison kept walking ahead, a bounce in her step at the thought that their father would find them. So optimistic, so hopeful despite what she saw with her own two eyes--though Parker wondered if she had truly retained anything from the short glimpse of the horror they left behind.

The image was burned in his mind, of their father, his arms twisted backwards--a position he thought was only possible with dolls and action figures, not human beings. His face bloody, his head fell back, veins popping out of neck,  _ screaming _ .

She deserved the truth.

“Mads…” he began, she stopped and turned around. Doe-eyed, a half smile, but her bottom lip was still quivering. Still scared, though she was putting on her bravest face. He didn’t want to make her cry, not again. Guilt was still sticking needles all over his body. 

She deserved the hope.

“Yeah...Maybe Dad will use the trail to find us.”

They continued on, Parker dropped another button here and there, sparingly--Madison’s shirt didn’t have quite as many as his or Nick’s. 

“Parker, why didn’t we just go back the way we came?” 

“Because, Petey might still be out there. Looking for us.” 

“Oh.”

They climbed onto a small ledge, Parker struggled as he used his feet to lift most of his weight over the edge, his spine shook in pain.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he grunted. It was bothering him, just slightly, that he couldn’t  _ see  _ how bad his back was messed up. His phone nearly fell out of his pocket, which gave him an idea. “Here, take a picture of it.”

“Of what?”

“My back. I wanna see.”

“Okay, weirdo.” 

He lifted up his sweatshirt, Madison snapped the picture while keeping her eyes closed, not wanting to see the actual state of his back, yet a curious eye spied on the image as Parker looked over it. Seeing it didn’t help as much as he thought, his back was very badly bruised--looked like a mixture of black, purple and yellow tye-dye. He hissed as he saw a few scrapes, which were no longer bleeding, but he could still feel the sting. 

“It’ll be okay,” Parker told a worried Madison, her eyes fraught with sympathy. “Just need some ice or somethin’ and it’ll go away. It’s like when I fell off the playground a few years back, remember? Last time I played tag with our cousins...”

“Daddy had to carry you home,” Madison lamented. 

They kept walking, Madison remained quiet for an inordinately long time, before she jogged up to Parker, gently tugged on his sleeve.

“Do...do you think Daddy will be okay?”

“Of course, Mads...He’ll be alright...Don’t worry.” 

More lies, even though it was easy to conceive, to fall into an alternate universe where everything  _ didn’t  _ go to hell, it somehow hurt him more than telling the truth would have. His voice was heavy, words were getting harder to push out of his mouth, the leaves were beginning to blur, the trees were spinning around them--Parker closed his eyes until the spinning stopped, he took a few deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, he found a button on the ground, but it wasn’t one of the Madison’s buttons. He looked around, the surrounding area was vaguely familiar--took out his phone, swiped through his pictures--they had been here before. They were back on the path they had tread before, with the fugitives, and their father. 

_ Proceed with caution _ , he told himself, gulping down the thought that Petey was stalking through their path like a guard in a game. The escort mission just turned into a stealth mission. 

“B-But Petey...he-he said…‘all the king’s horses and all the king’s men...couldn’t put our little, broken Daddy back together again…’”

“Petey was just being a dick, said that to make us upset,” Parker shrugged off, still looking at the pictures on his phone. He was trying to use them as a map, studying the layout of the background, so that they could keep to the outskirts. 

“Hee-he said…‘had a big fall!’” 

Short, panicked breaths, intermingled with sobs. They stopped walking again, Parker put his hands on Madison’s shoulders, grounded her to the spot.

“Daddy...whuh-what if Daddy fell? What if they pushed him off the mountain?”

“Then I’m sure Dad will still be okay! He’s invincible, like a superhero! Nothing will keep him down.”

“No, he’s not!” Madison cried, wriggled herself out of Parker’s grasp. “H-he’s not like one of your action figures, Parker!”

The comparison to such brought bile to the top of his throat, as he once again thought of the backwards arms.

“He would need someone to catch him, like y’all caught me when I jumped--”

_ SNAP _ .

“Wh-what was that?” Madison whispered, they both frantically looked around. A flashing light, through the trees, a gruff voice, calling their names.

“Parker? Madison?”

A man’s voice, but it wasn’t their father’s.

“I-It’s Petey! He’s come back to get us!”

Madison took off, Parker followed, they found sanctuary in a bush large enough to hide both of them as their names got louder and louder. 

“H-He’s gonna get us, he’s gonna break us, just like he snapped that twig, just like he broke Daddy!”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, I’m not gonna let that happen, you hear me?” 

Parker hugged her close with one arm, held out the knife with the other. She whimpered, but he didn’t even bother covering her mouth this time. He felt a surge of adrenaline, he could take Petey down in a single swipe of the blade. 

“Parker! Madison!”

Fight or flight, and he was choosing to fight. 

“I’ll go for his ankle, you get the hell out of here, okay? He can’t take us both.” Parker whispered into Madison’s ear as they were blinded by the shining beam of light. 

“You’ll be on y-your own--”

“ _ I can take it _ ,” he seethed. Lumbering footsteps, crunching the leaves and twigs. Imposing. Like a giant coming near them.

“I-I can’t...I can’t do it, I’m  _ scared _ . I wuh-want Da-ah-ah-ddy!” Madison sobbed into Parker’s hoodie. 

“I know, Mads, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The words were in his throat, frozen in place by his own protruding vein as he worked up the courage to go on the offense. Madison’s life was in danger. Their father was somewhere on the other side of the woods, in god knows what sort of state, worse case scenario, maybe even  _ dead _ . The odds stacked against them, and he finally understood why his father had left him with those those six words.

“I love you, I’m so sorry.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead, pushed her out of the bush as he lunged forward, swiped the blade across the man’s ankle as he pounced out of the bushes. In his peripheral vision, he could still see Madison, cowering behind a tree. 

“RUN, MADISON!” 

“Argh!” 

“Parker, NO!” 

The man stumbled backwards, fell on his bottom as Parker pulled the bleeding ankle, started to punch at the man, his thumbs mashing invisible buttons to puppeteer himself-- _ Fight fight fight fight-- _ this was just like a video game, after all. He had gotten the man in his jaw, he looked bewildered, but was not down for the count.

“What the hell--Stop--Stop it, boy! Stop, I’m here to  _ help you _ !” 

The man pushed Parker off of him with ease, rolled him onto his back--he yelped in pain, which made the bigger man retreat back. They both stood up, Parker bounced and readied himself despite the pain, the music in his head was at full blast, he was powered up, ready to hit the giant brute--who, wait, no, it  _ wasn’t  _ Petey--

“This is Ranger Hopper, I found the kids, but there’s a slight problem, over,” the man spoke quickly into a radio, grimacing from the sting in his ankle. No longer blinded by the flashlight, Parker got as good of a look at the man as he could get with his broken glasses--he was dressed in a ranger’s uniform. 

“Problem, what sort of problem?” A feminine voice, a familiar one, crackled back through the radio.

“Aunt Sara?” Madison squeaked. She ran out from behind her tree, up to the ranger and grabbed his radio.

“Aunt Sara! It’s Mah--Madison Stokes!” she panted, still hyperventilating. 

Parker laughed in disbelief. They weren’t alone, they had been found, and if anybody could find their father, it would be Aunt Sara. 

“A-and Parker!” he blurted into the radio, grabbing it from Madison’s hands. 

“Madison, Parker, are you two okay? Is everything alright? Ranger Hopper, status?” 

“Yeah, we-we’re fine--”

The radio was taken out of Parker’s hands by the slightly annoyed ranger, who locked eyes with the perturbed teen, before his face softened into a smile.

“You didn’t tell me these kids were armed and dangerous,” he joked into the radio. Madison snickered and nudged Parker in his side--their father would  _ love  _ that joke. 

“How about Nick, any sign of Nick?”

The mention of their father’s name sobered the Stokes children, darkness shrouded their faces, and the ranger’s face darkened with them.

“No sign of him. We’re on our way back to base. Over and out.”

* * *

“This is Undersheriff Curtis, everyone return back to base to regroup, the Stokes children have been secured. Repeat, everyone back to base, the Stokes children have been secured. Over.”

“That means you too, Cassie!” 

Though it was difficult to tell at the height they were perched at, the girl stalking around the clearing beneath them rolled her eyes. Her cheeks puffed, her lips scrunched in frustration. A pretty woman, he noted, probably older than she looked. She kept walking, her gun was drawn. His fingers drummed on the holster of his own weapon, in case she happened to spot them, but so far, she seemed none the wiser. His foot pressed down harder on the body at his feet, the bottom of his shoe squishing bloodied lips into the dirt. A soft groan, barely audible, weak twitches from the squirming bug  _ who just didn’t know when to quit _ .

By the looks of it, this girl didn’t know when to quit, either.

“ _ CSI McBride, do you copy? _ ”

She halted, looked up to the sky with a heavy sigh before unclipping the radio from her belt. She saddled her weapon, her defenses lowered. He raised his own, slowly, caught her in the crosshairs. His finger twitched on the trigger, the old man was of no use to them anymore, and they still needed a way out. He could shoot her in the arm, injure her, but not kill her, she could lead them out...

“Copy that, Sara, on my way.”

The girl left the area, he motioned as if to shoot her, letting out a soft “Pah!” He chuckled, and lowered the weapon.

“Stupid little bitch...” he removed his foot from the old man’s face, rolled his body to look at the man’s face--one eye was just barely open, tearful, staring up at him. He pressed his foot down on the man’s dislocated shoulder, which spread his lips apart, though no sound came out, his vocal chords were all but completely gone. He continued to prod the man with his foot, playfully, before motioning for his friend to come over and raise his foot up above the broken man’s head, and there it remained for a few moments--but the man seemed too far gone to even register the threat above his head. Boring. They would have to spice things up a bit. 

“Now then, where were we?”

* * *

Parker didn’t exactly expect an army at this supposed “base” that the ranger was leading them to, but he also didn’t exactly expect to see just a...seemingly small group of people, huddled around a table in the campground parking lot, quarantined in by flashing squad cars. He saw their car on the other side of the lot, wished he could just get in it and go home, instead of being steered towards an ambulance instead. 

“Oh, thank God!” An exasperated Sara Sidle ran up to the arriving trio, scooped up Madison and Parker in her arms. Her eyes were watery, though her face was hardened as she brushed the hair out of Madison’s face, brushed off the dirt from Parker’s hoodie.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?”

“Parker hurt his back--!” Madison began, before Parker nudged her to zip her mouth.

“ _ Maddy! _ ” he hissed, as Sara prodded them towards the ambulance to get checked out. “I’m  _ fine,  _ Aunt Sara, really--”

“Just like your father,” mused Sofia Curtis, who walked up with a sad smirk on her face. “You two were very brave.”

_ Not brave enough _ ,  _ otherwise Dad would be here, too. _

Words said privately to himself, but somehow heard by Sara, who pressed a firm, but gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Especially  _ you,  _ Detective Madison Stokes,” Sofia declared, wrapping Madison in the shock blanket as Parker’s back was examined. 

Words of comfort, but they didn’t quite reach Madison, who’s face screwed up into itself, a whine dissolved into a sob. Parker’s heart panged, realizing how his previous ridicule of her self-imposed nickname triggered this outcry. He was too hard on her, she was his scared little sister, who, in the absence of their father, needed her big brother, and instead he yelled at her, scared her. 

“Hey, I got here as soon as I could--did you find him? Where’s Nick?” another familiar voice--Uncle Grissom, half embracing Sara, placing an arm on Parker’s other shoulder in support. 

And he let her down. He let Madison down, he let his dad down. He let  _ himself  _ down. 

He shrugged off the paramedic, shrugged off the “comforting” touches from his psuedo-aunt and uncle, stood up, began to pace. 

“My fault, this is all my fault…” he started muttering, grabbing his hair, tugging at it. Closed his eyes, cause the world was spinning again, he was overwhelmed by the present crying of his sister, the echoed screams of his father. Overwhelmed by the voices, screaming at him--

“Are you okay?”

“Where’s Nick?”

“The kids are safe, thank heavens!”

“How’d you even find them?”

“Shirt buttons, just like their father did, CSI McBride can fill you in on that--”

“Parker, you need to sit down!”

\--interrupted by a new voice, a vaguely familiar one, though he couldn’t put a name to it--

“Parker, I know it’s hard, when bad things happen, to remember…”

How could he remember, when all he wanted to do was  _ forget _ ?

He opened his eyes, and found that the area was now  _ surrounded  _ by so many people--the army that he had hoped for, all here to look for his father. But why wasn’t anybody  _ doing  _ anything?

Oddly enough, he wanted to take a picture of this, text it to Colin, make an offhand comment about it, play it off as if it were nothing. 

Picture.

Phone.

“But if I give you some details, could you tell me the story of what happened to your father?”

Parker looked up at the woman, then down to his phone, scrolled through until he found the picture had taken entirely by accident, back on the cliff landing, when he had taken his phone out as a distraction, but perhaps, some part of him took the picture in an effort to document the scene,  _ for evidence _ .

If that were true, and Parker had some sort of deep-rooted instinct to leave evidence in the face of death, his father would be  _ so proud _ .

“It might help us find him…”

Stories could be fabricated, details exaggerated, especially in such a fragile, emotional state that he was in right now. But a picture on a cell phone? Not so easily faked, the details apparent for everyone to see. 

He showed the woman the picture, and the voices stopped. An eerie silence fell over the crowd, Madison sniffled as the phone was passed among the people closest to Nick’s inner circle, the only people Parker trusted with this photographic evidence--he didn’t recognize most of the people in the sea of uniformed and non-uniformed people--what if one of them was from the press? His father was a very private man, didn’t even like to be seen in the news on television. Has a thing about being watched, something Parker can understand, but wishes he knew more about. 

It was a snapshot of the moment in time, right before Teddy had slapped Parker, the main focus was on Nick, hands tied behind his back, his face bruised and beaten, scrapes of blood, and an...off look in his eyes. 

“He had a concussion,” Parker said flatly. “Why he looks so dazed. Hands tied...They...They have his gun.” 

“I was there, at that landing. There was a lot of blood,” the woman added as Sara held the phone in her hands. “Blood and drag marks. I followed the trail, but it went cold.”

The buzz began again, as the inner circle now moved back to the table to examine the map. Parker silently fumed, sensed that he was being left out of an “adult” discussion, even though he felt like he was way past the point of deserving to be part of the group. Parker dug Nina out of his sister’s bag, gave it to her as a surrogate source of comfort while he tried to join in--he was reluctantly let in through the nonverbal protests of Ranger Hopper and Brass. 

“Okay, so we’ll split up the search zones into these quadrants--everyone split up, these men are armed, we have no idea if…” Sofia began, but her voice trailed off at the sight of Parker. “We have to assume the worst.”

“No, we don’t. He’s  _ alive _ ,” the mystery woman interjected firmly. “All due respect, but what are we doing standing around here--we were brought back to what, continue ‘ _ thinking? _ ’ To split up? I was already covering half of this quadrant before I was dragged back here--”

_ I like the way she thinks _ .

“Cassie, a word?”

_ Cassie...Cassie Cassie Cassie, why does that name sound familiar? _

Sara guided Cassie aside, away from the group. Parker edged himself within earshot, tried to act like he wasn’t listening, but shot the occasional glance back.

“You’re out of line,” Sara scolded her.

“What does it matter if I’m out of line, when Nick’s out there, and  _ needs us? _ ” 

“Cassie, I’ve known Nick for a  _ long  _ time. He’s one of the strongest men I’ve ever met, but…”

“But what?”

“We’re all getting older, a-and based on that picture? Knowing some of his previous traumas? He wouldn’t have just left Parker and Madison to fend for themselves, and you said it yourself, there was blood on the cliff...”

“Why are you giving up on him?”

“It’s just, all these years, he’s been running on luck, Cassie. He knows that, too. I think, finally, his luck may have run out.” 

“Well, his luck isn't running out today. I found this, right before I got the call to come back.”

Cassie outstretched her hand, unfurled something small and pink--it looked like the gum that his father liked to chew. 

For years to come, Parker would not understand the meaning that a single piece gum held to the two women, but whatever it was, seemed to give both of them a burst of inspiration, their spirits rejuvenated, as they rejoined the group. Sofia was starting to split up the groups.

“I’ll take  _ that  _ quadrant, like I said, I already searched half of it. I’ll take the one next to it, too.” Cassie declared, pointing to a point on the map near the other side of the mountains. 

“I’m going with her,” Brass added.

“Me too,” Parker chimed in, and the entire group froze and stared at the young boy, in concern and bewilderment. “I want to help.”

“Parker, you’ve helped enough by showing us the picture, telling us what happened--”

“ _ I want to help _ ,” Parker reiterated. “You can ask Ranger Hop-Along here, nothin’s gonna stop me.”

The ranger shrugged.

“Kid’s got a hell of an arm, hell of an eye too, saw me coming from a mile away,” the ranger vouched for him, a sly wink to the young Stokes.

“You stay close to  _ me _ , you hear me, kid?” Brass shook him by the shoulder. “Too much like your father for your own damn good.”

“Been getting that a lot lately,” Parker muttered. 

The meeting was adjourned, Parker returned to the ambulance where his sister sat, cuddled by Grissom, who had stayed behind with her, after seeing that she was left by herself. “Sometimes the best thing to do is hang back, observe from the outside,” he had told her, in an effort to cheer her up as she had the disappointed, “I’m being left out” pout on her face.

Parker took her hand as he made direct eye contact with her--she had their father’s eyes, the sight of which made his lips tremble, but also gave him the final dose of determination he needed.

“I’m going to find him. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...Parker's a fan of Undertale, and if that wasn't apparent enough, I might be going a bit hard on the references in future chapters ;)
> 
> y'all wanna know what happened to nick? I tease it a little here, but more will be revealed in the next chapter.


	9. Vultures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> falling out of time, falling in between, he is caught beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted to know how Nick's doing? Well here you go.

His forehead was beaded with sweat, yet his lips felt dry. Words caught in his throat, his tongue tried to push them out of his lips, but was retracted back into his mouth instead. He fidgeted with the straps on his backpack. He really shouldn’t be so nervous, he volunteered for the task, after all. 

“Parker, hold up--I got something to tell you.”

He was going to wait until they got to their final destination to tell him the truth of what was happening. 

“What is it?” 

He looked down at the young boy, his eyes wide in wonder, his hair tousled--he briefly contemplated suggesting a haircut in the near future, though the look did suit him. 

He bent down so that he was on the same level, put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, the boy’s ears perked up, eager to listen.

It was a subject that wasn’t foreign to him in the slightest, but he didn’t quite have the same perspective that Parker would have on the matter. 

He needed to hide the anxiety in his voice, needed to pretend like this was something to be celebrated--because it was, but it was also new territory for both of them.

“In a couple months...you’re going to become a big brother!”

Nick was used to having siblings, having grown up with six of them, but didn’t know what it was like to be an older sibling. He also didn’t know what it was like to be an only child, with the complete and devoted attention from both parents, not having to “share” them with anybody else, just as Parker had done for the first six years of his life. 

But he did know what it felt like to be the youngest. He knew how it felt to be the most “treasured” something Billy had mocked him for in a heated argument--what was that argument about, anyway? It definitely didn’t matter anymore. He knew how it felt to be fawned over by everyone, even his own siblings, because he was the newest member of the family, had a lot to learn, but had plenty of great teachers, who had learned from the first six children of what to and not to do. 

So he could understand why young Parker Stokes would be apprehensive about having a sibling, having been spoiled with attention all these years, having been able to spend time with  _ just  _ his father--and he could understand the jealousy shimmering in his eyes when he realized that he would no longer have that complete luxury.

They were finally at their destination--a clearing in the wooded area of the park they were exploring. As Nick laid out the food for their picnic, Parker sat with crossed arms, pouting. 

“Aw, buddy, it’s okay! Having a sibling is really fun, you know,” Nick told him. He saw a few ants begin to crawl on the blanket, quickly brushed them away with over-exuberant swipes. “It’s like having a friend who’s there forever, they’ll never leave you!” 

“Daddy, what’s that flying in the air?” Parker asked, and Nick smiled--the first question to open the floodgate of discussion between the father and son, even though this question was unrelated to the topic Nick desired to discuss. Once Parker asked a question, he wouldn’t stop asking until he had  _ all the _ answers he needed to be satisfied.

There were two birds flying above them, upon first glimpse, Nick thought they may have been bats, based on their flying pattern, but after he narrowed his eyes, focused his vision, he saw that there were two black vultures flapping their wings sporadically, gliding,  _ circling _ around them. 

Nothing to worry about, though, there were no dead bodies in sight for them to scavenge, no eggs to steal, no newborns to kill.

“ _ Vultur atratus _ . The black vulture.” 

“Brother or sister?”

A smirk spread across Nick’s face as they continued to study the birds above. Perhaps, in Parker’s mind, these two birds resembled two siblings, which sparked the question inside his head. 

“Sister, we’re thinking of calling her Madison.”

“Mad’sn?” Parker asked, the accent he had obtained from Nick laid on thick.

“You can call her ‘Mads’ for short.”

“Okay.”

“Have you seen my knife?”

The boy shook his head, and they fell into silence. Nick’s heart fell just slightly, seeing the disappointed look in his son’s eyes, the questions had come to an end, at least for the time being. Perhaps he needed time to mull things over. 

“Daddy...who are those men over there?”

Two men in bright orange jumpsuits were approaching Nick and Parker from the darkness of the trees surrounding them. Nick stood up, vigilant, hands balled into fists. How dare anybody infiltrate this sanctuary, while he’s trying to bond with his son.

“Bad men. Convicts.”

“What do they want?”

“A way out.”

Nick froze, no...there weren’t any men there that day in the forest. Any and all criminals in the area were either in jail or about to be. Something wasn’t right.

Laughter, a little girl’s laughter--giggles danced through the trees. He vaguely wondered if there was a keyboard nearby, so that he could record the sound and play it over, and over.

A little girl who looked like a female version of himself weaved in and out from the trees, one of the men grabbed her, began to tickle her, chase her. 

But not in the ways you should play with a child. 

“They’re going to hurt her. As soon as I give the signal, you’re gonna take Maddy and  _ run.  _ Keep running, and don’t stop, no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, until you find help, okay?”

“But...but who’s gonna help you?” 

“Don’t worry about me, worry about Maddy, okay?” 

“I-I’m scared, Dad,” Parker began to sob. Nick turned his attention back to his son, who was no longer a short, six year old boy, but was growing, expanding with each sob, until he was much taller, much  _ larger  _ than Nick, shoved his father to the ground with an easy tap to his chest.

“I don’t want a little sister!” Parker screamed at him, circling his body like a vulture, it made Nick dizzy to watch--the giant boy’s body became a blur that split into two, one of the blurs took off towards the forest.

“I’m sorry, Park,” Nick groaned as the blur grabbed the little girl, took off into the void between the trees--he was thankful, he trusted that figure more than the two men who were morphing into giant birds--giant  _ vultures.  _ He hoped the blur ran fast, that specific species of vulture was known for going after newborns, and Madison was still such a precious commodity, too young for any of this.

Perhaps Parker would get what he wanted after all, and become an only child again.

“I love you, I’m so sorry,” Nick pleaded with his son, who was still upset with him. The final words he spoke, before Parker crushed his windpipe, sucked the air out of his body, left him gasping for just the tiniest ounce of oxygen. He hated himself for making Parker so upset, so angry, he didn’t deserve this responsibility, he was too young for that.

“I can’t protect her, can’t even protect  _ you!  _ I can’t, I can’t, I  _ can’t!”  _ Parker kicked him, again and again and again. His arms were at his side, unable to fight back, but he managed to slip a hand into his pocket, draw out something small, placed it next to him. 

On the last kick, Nick’s head was snapped to one side so roughly, he thought his head was about to twist off.

Something was pecking at his face, got him in the eye, though in the distance, he could see another little girl--one that didn’t look like him. She was blowing bubbles from her lips--bright, vibrant, glowing pink bubbles, shining out to him like a beacon. 

His heart soared.

It was  _ her. _

She got his message.

His head was kicked over to the other side, and the world was cracked, the trees displaced, the clearing was tilted, he felt his body roll before something clutched his throat--something large, like five thick sausages wrapping around his neck, lifted his body off of the ground. His feet dangled in the air, he couldn’t feel his arms--wondered if they were left behind. He was just able to see what had him in a throat hold--a giant vulture, even larger than Parker was, grasping his body with giant talons. Another vulture was next to him,  _ hissing  _ at Nick--if he didn’t know better, he thought it would be a twisted laugh. 

His body was dropped, picked up again, dropped, picked up again by the large creatures, he kept hearing the little girl’s laughter--was he being  _ played  _ with? His hands were tucked behind his back, one vulture flew around and carried him by his wrists, each flap of the wings lowering and raising his body like footsteps in the air, before the talons of the other vulture gripped his legs. The vulture that carried him pulled up, his arms raised up backwards with it, above his head--his body was being dragged through the air, stretched so hard that his arms popped out of their sockets. The vulture released him, he was upside down, dragged by his feet as he screamed in agony.

All of his screaming wouldn’t stop the laughter, which he had once identified as the most pleasurable sound in the world, but was now ruined forever.

Perhaps out of boredom, or out of the desire to move on, the vultures carried his body to the edge--though right behind the vulture, he swore he could see the outline of his son, running towards him--but...where was Madison? Did he leave her behind, for the bad men to do with her as they please? For one of the vultures, which had now disappeared, to ravage her remains? He didn’t want a younger sister, anyway, he should have listened to him, saved himself the pain of losing not just one, but  _ two  _ children as the vulture released Nick from its clutches, dropped him over the edge--the giant bird turned onto Parker, he heard a  _ click  _ that cracked like thunder in the air as his body felt numb, motionless, his plight had never quite reached an end, he kept falling as the world disappeared around him, surrounded by nothing but a black void. A familiar void that he had visited many times throughout his life, but had never stayed in for quite so long. 

He held his breath, promised himself that he wouldn’t let go until he was certain of the fate of his children. There was so much he wanted to say to them, so much he wanted to show them about the vast, terrifying but wonderful world they inhabited. 

But through the void, he heard one noise, and one noise only. 

A gunshot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge shoutout to deltajackdalton who gave me the idea for the flashback, and impossiblepluto who gave me the idea for the hallucination aspect, you two are geniuses. 
> 
> also shoutout to breaking benjamin for the song "bury me alive" which inspired this chapter


	10. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swimming through the ashes of another life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.

“No!  _ My  _ Daddy!” 

Parker scrambled up the tall man, clutched his shirt with one hand, wrapped his hand around the man’s neck with the other. 

“Mine!” He shouted down at the fiend crawling on the floor beneath them, though the fiend didn’t seem to heed his words, and continued to tug at the man’s pants. 

“Uppie?” the fiend begged, her short, stubby fingers flexing up at the man. Always blabbering when she wasn’t crying. 

“Noooooooo!” Parker whined, dug his head into the space between the man’s shoulder and neck. He shut his eyes tight, maybe he could just will the fiend away with his mind if he clung onto the man tight enough. “ _ My  _ Daddy…”

“Hey, now, it’s alright, y’all,” the man-- _ his _ father, cooed to his children in a soft voice. He bent down, still holding Parker in one arm, and scooped the  _ fiend  _ up with the other. “I have two arms.” 

Two arms. Two arms pumping in and out, in and out as he tried to keep pace with Cassie, though he hadn’t fallen too far behind--and Brass was trudging much farther behind them, at this point.

They had to make up for the lost time, their little meeting at the base gave the convicts more opportunity to run.

“How...can...we...be sure...that they...haven’t...gotten away?” Parker panted, his power of adrenaline depleted. His legs were burning, his back still stung with pain, the air flow in and out of his body was tight--an out of shape teenager, struggling to keep up with a fully competent adult female. When this was all over, he promised himself that he would start going to the gym with his father.

“They had the opportunity to get rid of him, but they didn’t. Based on the blo--based on the  _ evidence,  _ looks like Nick’s still alive.”

“You showed...Aunt Sara...a piece of...gum...”

“Yeah?”

“Wh-what...could gum...have to do...with...my dad?”

“He likes that gum. Chews it all the time,” she said shortly. Parker sensed that there was more to the gum than just that, and found it peculiar given the fact that his father  _ hated  _ chewing gum.

Cassie stopped running as they got to the incline, waited for the rest of the group to catch up. She held out a hand to help Parker up, a small smirk spread across her face.

“You remind me of your--”

“Father, yeah, yeah, I know,” Parker shrugged off. “You work with him, yeah? Chasing convicts...just a normal day at the office, or something?”

“Not exactly. He and I work out together, train together.”

“What’s the hold up, you two out of breath or something?” Brass called out as he caught up to the group, his hand on the holster of his weapon. He continued past them, Cassie and Parker chuckled before passing him up on the way to the landing where Parker had busted his glasses.

He gulped as he saw the dried pool of blood, the image of his father’s busted face flashed in his head. An echo of screams shuddered through the air, but he shook them off--that suffering was in the past, for all he knew, that was the worst that happened to his father. 

Though he ended up fearing more suffering was ahead, as they made it to the spot where Cassie had found the gum. She was right, there was  _ a lot of blood _ .

“Too much blood for one person, though.” Cassie remarked. Parker picked up a shred of clothing, it was part of his father’s shirt.

“Maybe Nicky was able to fight back,” Brass agreed. Parker had his doubts, given that his father didn’t have full use of his arms, but perhaps he was able to knock his body into one of the convicts, maybe they fell together? 

“I started heading that way before I was called back. Didn’t see much of anything though, the trail went cold.”

“The edge of the forest is just over that cliff--” Parker pointed out, looking at the map he was grateful that Nick had given to him at the start of their trip, as his phone battery died.

The trio branched out, Parker heading towards the left although he wasn’t allowed to stray too far to the group. They could see each other through the trees--Cassie was in the center, ahead of them, Brass was out to the far right. They treaded carefully, shining their flashlights to look for any more signs of blood, signs of struggle, although the waking sun was bathing the forest in the illumination of the early dawn hours.

Parker came up to the start of the incline to the cliff ahead of them, was about to call out to Cassie and Brass, when something caught his eye, distracted him. 

A shirt button.

He thought he was out of them, but maybe his father kept the last one for this purpose, the final beacon. 

“Dad?” Parker called out, and found it within himself to start running up the hill--his ears flooded with the sounds of his own heavy breathing, the edges of his peripheral vision were blurring--something in his heart told him he was getting close, he could hear shuffling ahead of him. 

The power of adrenaline was back, he could see two figures in the distance, one large, one small. The large figure seemed to be...holding something with a raised arm. He got closer--whatever he was holding wasn’t moving, but had hair, had a beard covering a swollen, bloodied face.

And then, the large figure threw the man forward, over the edge of the cliff.

Something rose up through his chest, raised his heart far above his body, and he was given two choices. 

Fight or flight. 

He chose fight. 

“Dad!” Parker screamed, he took out his knife, charged forward, hoping that Cassie and Brass had heard him, hoping he could incapacitate Teddy and dodge Petey at the same time, hoping that maybe his father would spring into action at his calling. 

“Go find the girl!” Teddy shrieked to Petey, who bolted off like a startled deer, to which Parker was somewhat grateful, but right as Parker reached the smaller man, who seemed to be shifting his weight onto one leg, seemed to have gotten a few scrapes and bruises--all sound, all time stopped around Parker, as he heard a  _ click _ , and the world trembled beneath his feet, shook the knife out of his hand. 

“Don’t. Move.” Teddy snarled. “Or you’ll end up like your dear old dad back there.” 

Parker wasn’t planning to, but he needed to see that his father was okay--he didn’t know how high up this cliff was, and he was certain that there was nobody to catch him.

“Dad!” Parker shouted, contemplated running, but the taste of metal in his mouth, the target between his eyes kept him glued to the ground. 

“Parker?” a voice called out, but it wasn’t his father. A distance voice, feminine. He wanted to shout again, call them over--why did he have to be so stupid, running off without backup?

“Shut up!” Teddy hissed, rushed forward to the young boy, rose up the gun as if to smack him with it--Parker flinched, whimpered, as the man grabbed his sweatshirt roughly, brought him over to the edge. “You wanna see your dad? Here, take a look, you little shit.”

He leaned Parker forward, over the edge of the cliff his feet scuttled backward, trying to keep balanced as Teddy shook him. On some level, he knew Teddy wasn’t going to dispose of him just yet, it was clear that they still needed help getting out of the forest--and perhaps he was going to use Parker for that task, or the hypothetical Madison that Petey was sent on the search for, which was a fool’s errand, considering Madison was safe and secure, miles away.

But Parker was hardly concerned about anything other than what he saw at the bottom of the cliff, a pile of flesh that looked like a squashed bug, blood splattered around a flattened face and disjointed limbs. If it weren’t for the clothing, he wouldn’t know that this was not a bug, but rather, a human being, and not just any human being--it was  _ Nick. _

He was no longer the hardened, determined fifteen year old being held at gunpoint by a pedophilic fugitive, but a frightened twelve year old boy standing at the top of a hole stretching to the core of the earth, staring down at his broken father, wanting nothing more than to just jump down to him, be with him, in what could very well be his final moments on this plane of existence--if that last moment hadn’t passed already, that is.

He couldn’t breathe, drowning in the waterfalls pouring out of his broken glasses, he tried to make some noise-- _ any  _ noise, to wake himself up from what was obviously just a very, very bad dream, but he was pulled back into the cold, cruel reality, shoved to the ground, onto an invisible spike that split across his back--a noise did escape, somewhere between a scream and a sob--and when he opened his eyes again, everything was a blur, except for the small black hole that had the capacity to engulf his whole body, send him to the same black void his father was sentenced to.

“No, p-please,” he pleaded, though he wasn’t sure what he was trying to bargain for--the life of his father, or his own life? 

“You’re going to help us get out of here,” the voice behind the gun commanded. 

His father’s words seemed to echo in his head, _ “stared down the barrel of a gun so many times it feels like home…” _

He wondered if he would get used to this feeling, too. His mouth felt dry, like he had swallowed a fistful of dirt, imagined his father in his place, apathetic in the face of danger. He tried to harness some of that strength, his fingers flexing above him, grabbing the ghost of his father--but instead he felt ashes in the air, the image of his father faded away, and all that was left, was him. 

“Th-They’re coming,” he sputtered as his fingers trembled, his nose was running, bottom lip vibrated. The world was spinning, he tried to limit his movements, in an effort to re-calibrate himself.

“Nobody’s coming,” Teddy growled. “Petey will be back any second with your little sister--”

A laugh in defiance, as cold as the metal that was swinging closer and closer poked him in the forehead.

“I’ll...never hel-heeeeelp you,” he groaned.

“Hmpf. Just like your father. Pathetic.”

An explosion, a crack of thunder in the air, and the world stopped spinning. The hyper-focus Parker had on the barrel of the gun blossomed to the rest of the world, he saw Teddy’s shocked face, his lips trembling, blood oozing out of mouth, pouring out of the side of his head. The gun dropped, and Teddy dropped with it, Parker couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the man’s eyes, unblinking...lifeless.

Parker shuffled backwards, as the body nearly fell on top of him. He tried to exhale, but found that he was stockpiling as much oxygen as he could into his body instead, unable to process the air in his lungs.

“Parker? You okay?” A cold, gruff voice, pulled Parker’s attention away from the corpse in front of him. Brass was standing, the aim of his gun still held on Teddy, a dangerous look in his eyes that scared Parker almost as much as Teddy did. He nodded, wiped his face. 

“It’s over,” Brass told him, lowered his weapon, softened his expression a little as he now looked to Parker. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“P-Petey…Still out there…” Parker hyperventilated as he tried to keep his focus on Brass, but found his eyes drifting to Teddy instead. He didn’t even register that Cassie had found her way to the scene, bent down to Parker’s side.

“The others already got him, they’re taking him back to base. Have you seen Nick?” she spoke to him.

“D-Dad...Dad’s down...down there…Dad!” Parker stuttered, wanting to look at  _ anything else  _ other than the scene in front of him, he wanted to run far, far away from all of this. He scurried to his feet, glanced around, saw a ledge that he could safely jump down onto that would lead him to his father’s body, still motionless right where Parker had seen him moments before. 

“Oh, Christ,” Brass muttered as he and Cassie joined Parker at the bottom, his hand covered his mouth. 

“Dad! Can you hear me? It’s me, it’s-it’s Parker--”

He hoped Nick could hear him, hoped that the sound of his son’s voice would keep him in this moment, keep him alive. But up close, it was  _ much  _ worse than it looked before. Nick’s face was gone, buried under bruised and swollen flesh marred with boot-prints and blood. Parker couldn’t tell where his eyes were, but could still see his nose, flattened and busted, blood streaming out of his nostrils onto his mouth, which was gaped open just  _ slightly _ enough to entice the flow of air into his body--Parker placed shaking fingers onto his neck, searched for a pulse.

“This is Brass, we’ve got Stokes, need medical assistance  _ immediately _ \--” Brass began to call into the radio, an uncharacteristic hitch in his voice that Parker had never heard in the man before. 

Fast pulses, beating against Parker’s fingers.

“He’s breathing. He’s breathing, he’s still alive! Dad, it’s okay, you’re safe now!” Parker pulled his ragged shirt, stained with dirt and blood, more boot-prints imprinted on the clothing, trying to lift him up into his arms--an odd noise, a gurgle, perhaps? A protest? A cry from his father? A struggle, for something…

“It’s okay, Nick, they’re safe,” Cassie offered. Maybe Nick just wanted to know what was going on, as he fell silent again. “Take it easy, you can rest now…”

“ _ We’re  _ safe now--” Parker clarified, wanting to indicate to his father that he was finally safe, too. His hand levitated over his father’s cheek--barely touching him, not wanting to give him more pain, but wanted to give him the comfort that someone was there, that  _ he  _ was there--he searched around for his hand, couldn’t find it--must still be behind his back--

“Park, don’t touch him--”

“He needs help, we need to get him out of here--”

“He’s not stable, we need to wait until the paramedics arrive!”

“Well, where are they, then?” Parker screamed, looking up at Cassie, who looked...mournful, staring at the body of her mentor. It was like she was acting as if he were already…

His hands still clenched Nick’s shirt, sobs rocked Parker’s body back and forth, tears falling onto his father, mingling with the blood and dirt on his face. 

Another noise, something resembling a whisper? A breath? A word, maybe, but he couldn’t define it. His fingers on his neck, felt the pulse...it was slowing down. 

“Dad? No, no, no, no, no, stay with me--” 

“Parker…” 

He wished it was  _ his  _ voice, never wanted to hear his father’s voice more in his life, but instead it was Cassie. Her gentle hands on his shoulders, trying to pry him off as he lowered himself onto his father’s chest, his ear pressed against a broken rib cage, searching for a heartbeat buried beneath the shattered bones.

“No!” He shook off the hands that were unintentionally sending his back into another spasm of pain, but the physical pain was  _ nothing  _ compared to the thoughts, the emotions firing through synapses in his brain.

He wasn’t fifteen, he wasn’t twelve. He was just a child, who needed his father.

“Dad... _ My  _ Daddy…”

Flashes of lights danced around them, as the world reverberated with the movement of his sobs. Whatever was wrong with his father wouldn't be able to be fixed by his touch, he allowed his body to be lifted away, wrapped up in Cassie’s arms. 

_ Click. Flash.  _

A familiar noise helped him identify the source of the dancing lights. It wasn’t flashlights, but camera flashes. Nobody was helping him, people were just standing around, mourning the scene in front of them, taking  _ pictures.  _

“Why are you taking pictures? Stop it! Help him!” 

“They just need to document--”

_ Document the crime scene. _

_ Document the body. _

“But...He’s not dead!  _ HE’S NOT DEAD!”  _


	11. Critical Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But tonight, there's only one voice. And she keeps asking me, "what happened? what happened?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah I decided that realistically, certain things in this fic are gonna happen that just...wouldn't make sense without explicitly mentioning the other parent. because of that, I retroactively went back and clarified in the notes of ch 1 that while you can still decide who the other parent is...probably best to assume nick's a single dad for this one. 
> 
> also...I changed the chapter count again, for pacing considerations

_ “Here’s the heart, hug it tight!”  _

Her cheeks burned with the dried stains of her tears, she kept her eyes closed as she hugged tightly Nina to her chest. She felt like she had a really bad brain freeze, tried to remember what the last thing her father said to her was, but something was...stuck in her head, an image, almost like a painting, that was morphing, twisting,  _ bleeding _ . 

It started out clear as day, the world was vibrant, wonderful. Everyone was having a good time, laughing and smiling as they hiked up a mountain, with two of Nick’s friends joining the party. She always liked meeting her father’s friends, they were always so nice to her, gave her compliments, played along with her.

She had always wanted to go to the very top of the mountain, as high as she could, look down at the world around her and proclaim, “I’m on top of the world!” She had even felt that euphoria as she took a piggyback ride on a giant man’s shoulders, watching her father take part in a dare to climb up the mountain with his hands behind his back--he could do it, of course. Her father could do  _ anything _ .

But as they got halfway up the mountain, the colors began to fade, the smiles slid off of everyone’s faces, even her own. Everyone became so...angry, shouting,  _ attacking _ . And her father was powerless--it dawned on her, too little too late that he wasn’t actually playing a game, rather, he was a victim of it. It reminded her of Christmas, a few years ago, when she saw a group of her cousins picking on another one of her cousins, who fled the playroom in tears, after their rough-housing had gone too far. 

But this wasn’t just rough-housing this...this was  _ torture _ , just like the torture she saw Billy and Jake inflict on a poor stray cat at the Stokes family ranch. She had told her father what she saw, and he dealt with the situation swiftly--she hasn’t seen Billy and Jake since--but how can she run and tell her father about this new torture, when it was being done to  _ him? _

“Madison, sweetheart, it’s going to be okay,” Sofia’s voice sounded like it was in front of her, something gripped her knee, it must have been her hand, before it was removed, and her voice faded away, as she was checking in with the rescue teams.

“Why is everybody lying?” she muttered into Nina’s ear, so close to her lips she could almost taste the stuffed bear’s fur. She tried to imagine that it was her father’s hair instead, that he was there, with her, not lost in the forest. 

“Lying about what?”

She nearly jumped, having forgotten that she was resting in the arms of Grissom instead of on a comfortable pillow. She wished she could just go home, hole up in her tent-bed, wrap up in a cocoon of blankets. She was very tired, wanted to just fall asleep, but she kept her attention on the painting in her head, on the lookout for any more changes.

“That it’s going to be ‘okay,’” she told him, as she studied the details. Her father’s arms and legs bent behind his back like one of her dolls, held in place by a giant boot as his head was smashed with fists, his stomach assaulted with kicks. 

“Your father is a very resilient man.”

“Wha’s tha’ mean?” she yawned. 

“Means he’s going to make it, Maddy. No matter how bad things get, your father always comes back.” 

“Ha-Has this happened before?”

Grissom fell back into his silence, and Madison left her outlook post of looking at the painting in her mind. She opened her eyes, blue and red lights blossomed around her, like polka-dots flashing in the air. Uncle Grissom came into focus, his face had fallen since she last saw it, his mouth agape, his eyes staring down a path that she couldn’t see, couldn’t follow. 

“You can tell me, I’m nine years old!” she whined, sensing that the answer was for “adults only,” just as the answer as to Billy and Jake’s fates was when she prodded her father on the car ride home that day at the ranch. Uncle Grissom seemed to have a similar sadness in his eyes that she saw that day, too. 

“I can take it!” she parroted her older brother’s words from earlier, in an effort to convince the old man just as she was. 

“Your father works very hard to catch the bad guys, put them in jail…” 

“Yeah, he’s very good at it, too!” 

“Yes, Maddy, he is. But sometimes...sometimes the bad guys win. Sometimes they get him first...”

“They got him! They got Nick!” 

Sofia’s voice boomed through the sky, a wave of applause trailed behind it, cheers and laughter. Madison’s heart fluttered, she bolted up, threw the shock blanket off of her shoulders, left the nest of Grissom’s arms. She ran over to Sofia, who was listening to the alternating voices on the radio.

“They found him? They found Daddy? Can I talk to him?”

_ “No, you need to get here faster, dammit!”  _

Brass’ voice crackled with urgency that sent a shiver through Madison’s body. She gawked at the dark entrance to the forest, people were running into the darkness, running to help. She wanted to help too. 

“ _ He’s in critical condition--” _

_ “HE’S NOT DEAD!”  _ Parker’s voice screeched through the radio, high pitched feedback sent Madison stumbling backward, into Grissom who had followed her to the spot--nearly ran into her as he became hyper-focused on the radio, Brass’s urgent update, Parker’s frightful voice in the background. 

“Parker? I want to talk to him, let me talk to Parker!” 

“-- _ Not breathing, we’re lifting him to this--” _

_ “STOP TAKING PICTURES!” _

_ “--clearing, get a chopper over here, ASAP--” _

_ “HELP HIM! HE CAN’T BREATHE! HELP--” _

“Maddy, let’s-let’s walk over here--”

“Parker!” she screamed as Grissom led her away, back to the ambulance, the shock blanket was thrown on top of her again. Grissom tried to wrangle her back into his arms, but she kept wriggling, half tempted to run into the forest herself, to find her brother and father.

Instead of speeding forward, what kept her ricocheting around the confines of the base was the thought of Teddy and Petey, the snake and the giant, still out there,  _ torturing  _ her father, her brother. Poking them with a stick, dissecting them like Billy and Jake dissected the poor cat. 

“Madison, shh, shh, shh, it’s going to be okay,” Grissom tried to soothe her, but he couldn’t hide the panic in his voice. His hearing may be bad, but the words on the radio were unmistakable.

_ Critical condition.  _

_ Not breathing. _

“I want my Daddy!” she cried out, as helicopter blades chopped through the air above them. 

“Where’s...where’s Nina, huh? Ah, there she is, here we go…”   


She threw Nina to the ground.

“Parker said he needs help! We need to help him!” 

She began to pace furiously, her hands balled up into shaking fists. Her heart was frantically searching for a way out of her body, her lungs overloaded with air, she could hardly breathe. Her face scrunched up in concentration, trying to focus her vision through the burning water in her eyes.

“We  _ are  _ helping, Madison,” Grissom told her in a matter of fact voice as he calmly picked up the bear. 

“HOW!?” 

“By being  _ here _ .  _ Safe.”  _

“I just...I want to help!” Madison cried, throwing herself into Grissom’s arms. He stumbled backward, allowed the force to hit him, but he rocked forward. He shook a little as he wrapped his arms tightly around the young girl, covered her ears as discussion on the radio changed from Nick’s status to the fates of the convicts. Madison pretended that she didn’t hear--one convict was dead, the other was being brought in. 

She felt her hair fly into her mouth as the sounds of the helicopter blades got louder, approached them, but then passed them. White noise that she normally drowned out, now on full blast, anticipation that the helicopter would land, that her father would hop out, scoop her up in his arms, take her on a ride, too--deflated as the sound faded. She heard murmured discussion of transport, heard Grissom’s voice declare that they were waiting for Parker before going to the hospital. She almost wanted to interject, but her speech was garbled up as her body heaved quiet sobs. 

She closed her eyes again at the sudden commotion emerging from the dark forest. She didn’t want to open them again until the giant was gone--maybe if she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t actually be there.

Petey was brought back to the camp--hollering, “It was all Teddy’s idea! He threatened me! I never wanted this!” in an effort to make a deal. And yet, she found herself peeking an eyelid open, watching as the man was brought into the camp, kicking and screaming-- _ See how it feels?  _

Grissom tried to shield the young girl from the sight, but to his and everyone else’s shock, Madison put on a display of pure fury, an icy stare so full of rage that found its way into the eyes of the giant, who ceased his struggling, fell silent in the face of the middle finger sticking up in front of a Dallas cowboys teddy bear. 

Petey was roughly stuffed into the back of a van and taken away. The crowd began to dissipate, more people entered the forest with evidence collection kits, some of the search and rescue team filtered back in. Madison kept her eyes strained for any sight of her brother. Sara was one of the first people that Madison recognized, she walked over to Grissom and Madison after a brief talk with Sofia. 

“Did you…?” Grissom began in a soft, worried voice as he cupped her cheek.

“No, I was helping bring Petey in. I, uh...I heard, though…”

She fell silent, not wanting to worry Madison. 

At the end of the parade of people emerging from the woods, she spotted Brass and Cassie helping Parker walk—his feet were barely on the ground as they had lifted him on either of their shoulders. 

“Parker!” Madison called out, running over to meet him. Grissom followed closely behind.

Parker’s face was pale, his eyes were empty behind cracked and blood splattered glasses. He was breathing in rapid, short breaths through gritted teeth, Madison stopped herself from hugging him, he seemed like he was in a tremendous amount of pain. 

Cassie’s eyes seemed to have sunk, her cheeks were red, she was drenched in sweat. Brass was also pale, a darkness flickered in bloodshot eyes that made him unrecognizable to Madison. 

“What happened, are you alright?” Madison asked.

Parker shook his head in a quick motion, and Madison was blinded by burning water stinging the edges of her eyes. 

“What happened?” she asked again, the silence from not just Parker, but  _ everyone _ , was driving her crazy. “What happened to Daddy?” 

Parker removed himself from Cassie and Brass, wrapped Madison up in his arms. A tight squeeze, a shaking hand cupping the back of her head into his chest. 

“W-What happened? Tell me!” Madison protested. The adults all moved out of Madison’s view. Low, indistinguishable murmurs, Parker even moved his hand over Madison’s ear, to which she squirmed. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her what was happening?

Parker let go of her and he was assisted onto the stretcher in the ambulance. Grissom put a hand on her back, guided her to sit on the bench beside him. The burning question danced on the top of her tongue, waiting for the commotion to settle before she spoke again. 

Once the ambulance began to move, she inhaled, ready to expel the words from her body, but one look at Grissom told her that maybe she was better off not knowing. 


	12. Twelve Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stokes family seem to have a thing against hospitals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried while writing this, so you may cry while reading it, but folks...we are now in recovery. End of the fic has a little nod to one of my favorite post-grave danger fics, "Down to the Ground."

“What ever happened to Billy and Jake?” 

He looked up from his crossword, his curiosity piqued at the break in the silence that had fallen over them once the nurse left the room. Parker was sitting on an elevated hospital bed, his fingers fumbling with the edges of the hospital gown that he was  _ not happy  _ about wearing. Madison was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, still clutching her teddy bear, biting down her lower lip after asking the question about a pair of children that Grissom knew next to nothing about. 

“Don’t know,” Parker told her. “Haven’t seen them since…”

His voice trailed off into a pained groan, Grissom furrowed his face. 

“Should we get the nurse, get you some more pain meds?”

“No!” Parker protested. “No, I-I’m fine. Just...keep talkin’.”

_The Stokes family seem to have a thing against hospitals_ , he mused to himself. Grissom remembered how keen Nick was on going home after being thrown out of a window. How eager he was to move around, even just stretch after being shoved into a claustrophobic solitary confinement for over a day. According to Sara, he wasted no time in going back to work after being shot. 

He imagined that once he was out of surgery, Nick would want to go home as soon as possible. He could already see the impatience, the frustration present in his children. Even though they weren’t showing it, hadn’t even uttered the words, he knew exactly what they were both thinking. 

_ When can we go home?  _

Not that the thought of going home without their father had even crossed their mind, however. Madison was offered the chance to go to the house with Sara and Greg, obtain Parker a new set of clothes and his spare glasses, but she had refused, insisted that she remain in the hospital with her brother. 

“What d’you wanna talk about?” Madison asked as Parker shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

“I don’t know. Anything. Why were you asking about Billy and Jake?” 

“I was just...thinking about them.”

“Jake was at Papa Cisco’s funeral.”

“He was? I don’t remember seein’ him.”

“There were a lot of people there that day.”

Parker got up from the bed, walked over to the blinds that were pulled down over the window next to the door and peeked through. Grissom could hear the commotion outside, knew from previous experiences when one of their own were staying in the hospital that the corridor would be filled with family, friends, co-workers, other members of the law enforcement who showed up in solidarity. Though the thought of such an outpouring of support during such a hard time was comforting, it was also very overwhelming. He was exhausted just  _ hearing _ the buzz beyond the door. 

“Just like there’s a lot of people here, too.” 

They had been given this sanctuary not only to tend to Parker’s wounds, but to shelter the children from the members of the press that were just as eager to find out the scoop on what was happening to their father. They had heard the headlines on the news as they initially settled into the room. 

“Prison escapees caught, after taking a family hostage!”

“Veteran Jersey Cop Jim Brass shot one of the armed convicts, more at five…”

“Lab Director Nick Stokes in a fight for his life after being airlifted out of the forest--”

They had wasted no time in cutting the power to the television, though Parker seemed a little upset that they didn’t keep watching. Morbid fascination in the face of tragedy, even if he was directly involved in it. 

Just like how Nick watched Crane’s tapes even though Grissom advised him not to.

Somehow now more than ever before, Grissom noticed just how similar Parker was to his father. He was just as naive, prideful, determined, and yet had that reclusiveness, reservation in himself during times of extreme stress. If Grissom ever had to imagine Nick Stokes as a young teenager, his son Parker would be an identical comparison. 

“Jesus, the kid, he...he just... _ looked  _ like Ni--like he did, you know?” Brass stammered in a low whisper to Grissom when informing him of the gunpoint incident. A painful image, different from the one Brass had seen, was painted in Grissom’s mind, of Parker’s chin wobbling, lips shaking, tongue nervously sticking out and coating his lips. Eyes shimmering, a softness in his voice as he tried to remain calm, in hopes that the assailant would calm down, too. 

Parker turned around from the window, Grissom almost expected a shortened Nick to turn around instead, telling him, “yeah,” he was okay. 

“I think...I think Billy’s in jail or somethin’.”

“ _ Jail? _ ” Madison gasped.

“Yeah, juvenile deflection?”

“Juvenile  _ detention _ ,” Grissom interjected. The word just so happened to be twelve down on his crossword.

“Yeah, that.”

“Why?” Madison asked. 

“He was caught doing something  _ very, very  _ bad.” 

“Was it because he hurt that cat?”

“What cat?”

Both Grissom and Parker’s eyebrows raised, Grissom was slightly shocked that Parker was just as in the dark over this as he was, wondered how recent all of this was.

“He and Jake, they were...hurting a cat.”

“Oh,” Parker didn’t seem that surprised at the news. “No, that wasn’t it.”

“What was it, then?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Grissom suggested, sensing how Parker’s body stiffened, nostrils flared. Tell-tale signs that he did not want to discuss whatever it was Billy did to warrant his punishment. 

Parker walked over to his charging phone on the desk next to Grissom, his eyes glued to the screen, a flicker of happiness sparkled in his eyes. He noticed Grissom watching and frowned sheepishly, setting the phone down again.

“Was that Colin?” Madison asked loudly, annoyed. 

“Who’s Colin?” Grissom asked, wanting to steer the conversation in a less hostile direction.

“My...boyfriend.”

A small, warm smile spread across Grissom’s face that seemed to loosen Parker. 

“He’s coming soon. Wish he could meet Dad under better circumstances but--” a dark chuckle as Parker ruffled his hair. “Maybe Dad being all drugged up would help things, anyway.”

The room fell silent over the direct mention of Nick. 

“When do you think we’re going to get to see him?” Madison asked, breaking the silence again. It had been hours and they hadn’t heard anything, and it was evident that Madison’s patience was wearing thing.

“I don’t know,” Parker said flatly. Grissom shook his head, wished he had the answer. 

A gentle knock on the door startled Parker, he scurried back into the bed, perhaps out of fear that the nurse would chastise him for not resting. Madison stood up, eager, hopeful. 

Cassie McBride entered the room, Grissom recognized her from his visits to the San Diego Crime Lab when bringing Sara food, or using the space in the lab for his research, a privilege Nick had bestowed on him in his second year there. She held a file and notepad in her hands, Grissom figured she was here to debrief Parker and Madison, get their side of the story. 

“Hey,” she greeted the room, her eyes avoiding Grissom’s gaze, which made his heartbeat increase. Her cheeks were red, the edges of her eyes seemed to twinkle in the harsh lighting of the room--had she been crying? Was she here instead to bear the news that seemed to weigh her down so much that her movement was slow, cautious as she placed a hand on Madison’s shoulder, sat her back down in the chair. 

“What’s going on, is Dad out of surgery yet?” Parker asked.

“Yeah, yeah he is, but...” 

“Can we see him?” Madison gasped, stood up again, though Cassie still held her shoulder, pushed her back down. 

“He’s sleeping.”

“Yeah, so? Can we go to his room?” Madison protested.

“Not yet, sweetie,” Cassie told her. She placed the file and notebook on the edge of the bed, crouched down and cupped the young girl’s hand. 

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“He’s going to be sleeping for a  _ long  _ time.”

Grissom’s heart sank, falling out of his chest as the realization dawned on Parker, who had dived for the file, was skimming it with wide, terrified eyes. Madison didn’t seem satisfied, still confused, needed clarification.

“Whuh-why? Is he okay?” Madison asked as her voice began to shake, her lips trembled. Cassie remained silent as Parker passed the file to Grissom, without eye contact. 

“Don’t baby me, just tell me!” Madison prodded.

Tears streamed down the young girl’s face, contagiously spread over the occupants of the room. Grissom’s watery eyes flickered between key words on the paper that described Nick’s injuries. 

Dislocated shoulders. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding. Broken nose. Collapsed lung. Deterioration in his knees.

Spinal fracture.

_ Traumatic brain injury. _

He saw the pictures, his accessories left on the ground, dredging up memories of a similar arrangement of his possessions at another crime scene, decades ago.

His clothing stained in blood, dirt and boot prints, laid out on an evidence table. Two different boot prints, one much larger than the other. 

His body, lying limp on the ground, limbs sprawled out, though his arms seemed to be tucked under his body. 

Close-up shots of his tied hands, the bruises on his body, his shoulders that were out of place.

His face , mangled and swollen.

Unrecognizable. 

“He’s in a coma, Madison,” Cassie choked out.

Grissom closed the file and set it aside, put a shaking hand over his mouth, stifling down the emotions that were threatening to boil to the surface. 

“I--wa-aan-t-uh--see-h-him!” Madison hyperventilated as she clutched the teddy bear to her chest so tight it almost split in her grasp. Parker got out of bed, walked over to hold his sister. Cassie sniffled and stood up, nodding to the children, and finally met Grissom’s eyes. 

A silent communication, an understanding, that perhaps the children should be accompanied by someone who they feel more comfortable with. The bond between Cassie and the children was not quite strong enough for this daunting task. 

Grissom stood up, held a breath deep within his lungs as he wrapped his arms around the Stokes children, led them out of the door. 

The buzz of the hallway ceased immediately as the door opened. The crowd dispersed, separated against the walls. His room was at the end of the hallway, as pointed out by Cassie. 

As they traversed the hallway, Grissom saw many people he didn’t recognize, presumably crime lab personnel, a few uniformed cops, a few people dressed up in suits. Nick’s new colleagues, subordinates. He felt Madison’s body shake in silent sobs. Parker was stiff. 

Around the middle, he felt a little relieved, as he was able to match faces to names floating in his mind. Some people--his own colleagues and previous subordinates--he hadn’t seen in years, felt a longing to reconnect. Some of the people had always been close to him, always in contact, but he had a different longing, one to provide comfort. But instead his grip tightened on the children, they were the ones who needed his comfort now.

Closer to the end of the hall were people he had vague memories of meeting in another hospital, another hallway decades ago. People that looked like Nick. People that looked to Grissom for guidance, for a fatherly figure, because in the absence of the late Judge Stokes, Gil Grissom would have to do. 

They entered the room, which felt darker than the previous one. A spotlight on the occupant of the bed, tied up in tubes and wires connected to machines. Sporadic beeps that recorded the beat of the man’s heart. 

The children had froze as soon as they entered the room, Grissom slunk away behind them, walked to the bed to study the unconscious man, because the sight of the man did not meet the expectations he had in mind of a hospitalized Nick. Underneath all the bandages, the swelling, the tubes and wires, was an unrecognizable man, not moving, nonspeaking. He almost left, demanding to be directed to the correct room. But the chart at the end of the bed told him that yes, they were in the right room.

This was Nick Stokes.

He rounded to the side of the bed, but then stumbled backwards, falling into a weird feeling of deja vu. Parker gripped Madison’s arm, held her in a similar manner that his own grandfather had held his wife decades ago, as they watched Nick fight for his life. A grim realization of similarities swirled in the pit of his stomach. The beeping of the machines was a countdown, a timer. A system of life support given to Nick, press a button, he will keep living. Pull the plug, and he will die. 

And just as her grandmother did, Madison made the first move, though instead of leaving, she moved closer to Nick.

“D-Daddy?”

Madison’s crying became fully audible, she held out a hesitant hand, though she didn’t touch him. Didn’t want to hurt him, most likely. A valid concern, especially for a child who probably did not envision this level of...mess. Comas weren’t always this tidy, documented much differently on television.

“Daddy, it’s okay, it-it’s Madison...Maddy’s here. Can you hear me?” 

Grissom knew that Nick wouldn’t be able to hear her, but didn’t stop her as she continued to talk to him. Let her speak words that would probably offer Nick comfort, if he was conscious enough to hear them. She may as well have been talking to the wall.

“I...I think you need Nina more than me right now,” she told him in a strained voice, before she left the bear on the table beside him and sprinted out of the room. Her crying faded out, he was left with silence inter cut with the beeping, and a shaky, deep breath from Parker.

He expected words to come out of the boy’s mouth, words that would serve as a clue, a piece of the puzzle in how to save Nick’s life with a cornerstone, one that Nick could hold onto, bring him back to reality.

But the boy had no words to offer, only the swift motion of knocking the bear off of the table. A pause, furrowed, frustrated eyebrows as his attention lingered on the fallen object, before he stumbled out of the room, slowly. 

Grissom released the breath from his lungs, picked up the bear off of the ground and placed it back on the table. Madison’s distant cries were overlaid with the returned buzzing of the crowd outside. He hooked a chair with his foot, settled in as he took the first watch, because the people in the hallway weren’t just there temporarily, they were there for good, until Nick wakes up, if he wakes up.

No.

He would wake up.

He had to.

“Nicky...my boy...can you hear me?” he whispered in a cracked voice as he used a nickname that he hadn’t used since he had promoted him to level three, almost a lifetime ago, at this point. 

Grissom found Nick’s hand, his heart twinged as he saw the rope burn on the man’s wrists, cut so deep that it nearly separated his hand from the rest of his arm. 

“ _ Pancho…Listen to me. _ ”

It worked before, maybe it would work again.

“Put your hand on my hand,” he commanded, but knew that the younger man would need help. He was gentle as he placed Nick’s hand over his own. 

He broke script, because Nick wasn’t on top of a bomb this time. Wouldn’t need the instruction to keep still, especially when he’s got that part down at this point. Couldn’t entice him to make any promises, though he had one of his own for the man, that didn’t need saying. 

The promise came after his first dialogue to Nick, however. An appeal, a plea, woven with words of validation, that he had never stopped saying since he found out that Nick was under the impression that he didn’t know his value to Grissom.

But those were words that were to be kept between Nick and Grissom alone, in their shared solitude of the confines of the hospital room.

It was nobody’s business but their own.


	13. A Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Collage of broken words and stories full of tears, Remembering your life 'cause we wish that you were here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically...a cameo-fest, including some characters that might show up again later ;) Also shoutout to the GETC for giving me some ideas on this one!!

Beep. Hiss. Beep. Hiss. Beep. Hiss.

Something about the sounds reminded him of urgency, an alert that he normally mutes when he’s playing his games, when his virtual avatar is running low on health. Alert, alert, alert, you’re gonna die! 

But just as it was when he played those games, it wasn’t actually his life at stake. It wasn’t _his_ life that was fading, buried in a mess of tubes and wires.

It was his father’s life, which made the beeps of the heart rate monitor echo within his own heart. It was his father’s life, which made the ventilator’s flow sound longer, deeper, that anchored him to the couch, pressing his body deeper and deeper with each push of artificial breath. His father’s life, surviving only on hydraulics and electrical currents, intricacies he didn’t quite understand at such a young age, yet his eyes traced the pathways of tubes and wires in and out of his dad. 

It didn’t feel right, seeing his father at the mercy of machines rather than his own internal strength. Seeing the man who once balanced two young children in each arm, sprinting to the car in the pouring rain because they forgot their umbrellas--Madison thought it was hysterical, Parker had chuckled a little as Nick had made jokes about it, exaggerating the amount of effort it took for him to take them out of the car and dry them off when they all got home. 

Seeing the man who managed to run a fully staffed crime lab and a zoo of a house, of children and animals, on his own. Sure, he had help from friends and family when needed, but though they tried to be on their best behavior, Parker would admit that he himself could be a handful, at times, especially as he traverses through a teenage wasteland. And Madison’s anxiety sometimes made her near inconsolable, even when around their father. 

Seeing the man who fixed  _ everything _ , unable to fix himself. 

He had always wished for a power outage to interrupt those mundane activities, obligations such as school or one of Madison’s basketball games that he was forced to attend. An event that, while an inconvenience, wouldn’t actually  _ hurt  _ anybody, and would end his so called “suffering” prematurely. 

He had lost track of time as soon as Teddy punched him in the face, but as he wiped his face with a bandaged hand, he felt something growing above his lips, indicating that it has been at least a few days. In that time, his definition of suffering had been given a whole new meaning, as did the potential consequences of a power outage. 

His father’s life hung in the balance all because an outlet was plugged into a wall, the same sort of connection Parker used to charge his phone, which sat just out of his reach, bouncing on the couch cushion as he received hundreds of notifications from people trying to reach out to him.

He wasn’t exactly an antisocial type, having been used to interacting with people being part of such a large extended family, but he was most certainly introverted. With his father unable to talk, unable to listen, everyone seemed to turn to him in the wake of his father’s absence. 

A wake.

It was like being at a wake. 

Right down to the pictures and cards strewn all over the tables, the offerings of flowers, the visitation with Nick’s corpse.

No, not a corpse.

He wasn’t dead.

Despite his exhaustion tethering his feet to the ground, lulling his head downward as his fingers throbbed with every inflection of every spoken word that made his fingernails nearly fly off of his fingers, he still found a part of himself to offer to the grieving parade. The part of him that was more like his father than he would ever know sat there and  _ listened  _ to everyone who came in to speak to Nick, speak to Madison, or speak to Parker himself. 

The overload of emotions that poured out of the souls of people he knew and didn’t know continued to drain him, but he straightened up, perked his ears, let the words travel through his ears, tucked away in his mind to share with his father later. 

Easier said than done, but it’s what Nick would do, after all.

* * *

“Hey, sweetie!” a soft whisper woke Madison up from a half slumber. A swirl of cherry red lipstick and golden-red hair came into focus. 

“Aunt...Cath?” Madison yawned. “Wha’time s’it?” 

“It’s getting late. It’s time to go home.”

“No...five more minutes,” she pleaded with widened eyes, sitting up, though she kept one hand on her father. “Please?”

Catherine’s face crumbled, all the money in the world couldn’t buy more time and she shook her head at the young girl sadly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. They’ve already let us stay past visiting hours tonight. But...we’ll come back first thing in the morning, okay?” 

Madison pouted, but nodded. She planted a soft kiss on her father’s forehead. 

“I love you, Daddy. See you tomorrow.” 

Catherine lifted her from the bed, wrapped her up in a blanket and carried her out of the room. Madison kept her eyes focused on her father until he was out of her line of sight, and buried her face into Catherine’s sweater.

“You know, Lindsay and Morgan bought a  _ ton  _ of pizza. I don’t think they can eat it all by themselves, do you?”

Madison shook her head. 

“Parker could,” she grumbled in a muffled voice. 

“Or...Eli?”

“Eli’s here?” Madison gasped, lifted her head out of Catherine’s sweater as they descended in the elevator. 

“Yes, he is! Everyone is, they’re all waiting for you at home!” 

She had never been so happy, yet so sad to see so many members of her family, both blood family and “adopted” family as her father once described, in one room. Here she was, surrounded by laughter and stories and memories. Everyone connected by the same thread that occupied the empty space at the end of the table. 

But Nick? He was all alone. 

For once, she didn’t fight bedtime. Allowed Catherine to tuck her in, check her room for monsters, read her a quick story--uncharacteristically, she didn’t ask for more. She needed to go to sleep as quickly as possible, so she could wake up and go back to the hospital. To be with him.

He needed her. 

* * *

A much older, dark skinned man, limped into the room with a cane and planted himself at the foot of Nick’s bed. The man’s outward appearance was reminiscent of his late grandfather, a comfortable posture as if he belonged in the hospital environment. After setting the cane on the railing of Nick’s bed, he picked up the chart, studied it and adjusted his tie. 

“Did they catch the son of a bitch who did this?” the man addressed Parker, dark eyes flickering at him that betrayed the soothing facade. 

Parker nodded.

“Good.”

The man removed his tie completely, and placed it on the table, wrapped around a picture taken at a bowling alley. 

* * *

_ While the cat’s away, the mice come out to play. _

An echo of a recited nursery rhyme from her early childhood, from a book, read to her by her father. An applicable rhyme that soothed her, unlike the other nursery rhyme that was bespoken as a tease, a threat that would stick in her head for the rest of time.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men were there, and yet there her Daddy lied on the bed, not quite back together again. 

The small crowd of people that entered the room after her aunts and uncles had left with Parker didn’t seem to notice her. She didn’t take offense, they were there to see Nick, after all, not her. She went back to reading her book, mentally practicing the voices in her head to play out to her sleeping father. He always did the voices  _ just  _ right, and she didn’t want to let him down.

“Hey there,” a woman’s voice drew her out of her practice. She got a good look at the crowd, of mixed ages, mixed appearances. Her heart froze for an instant, who were these people, who didn’t look anything like her or Parker or Nick? Why was such a large group of strangers in this room, staring and sobbing over the sleeping man?

“My name’s Mandy. I used to work with your Dad.”

“Nice to meet you,” she replied through softly gritted teeth. She accepted the stranger’s outstretched hand, warily, tightly, but the woman’s warm smile only seemed to stretch more. Part of her wanted to trust this nice woman, but another part of her was screaming at her, not to trust any more of Nick's so called "friends."

“He’s told us so much about you,” another woman smiled at her, sat next to her on the couch.

“Hey, what’s that you’re reading?” an older man sat on the other side of her, peeked at the words over her shoulder. “Ooh, Nancy Drew!” 

A little obnoxious, a little invasive, she shrank back but his excitement was somehow contagious, and she lowered her defenses, just a little, in her eagerness to talk to somebody else about her favorite book series.

“She’s my favorite!” Madison proclaimed to the man.

“An inspiration to us all. Always wanted to be her,” an older woman winked at Madison.

“Yeah, me too!” A larger man chortled, causing the whole room to giggle along with Madison.

“I hear you’re quite the detective yourself!” another man, a smaller man than the rest, squeaked from the opposite side of the room. He eagerly walked over, awkwardly crouched next to Mandy.

“No...I’m not...I’m not…”

Sadness waved over her face, and the smiles of the strange assembly faded, too. 

“Yeah, you are. Your father’s told us. He sees you, reading those books, solving the case far before even Nancy Drew herself,” the final man, who had been silent up until this point, spoke to her. She was honored, he seemed so  _ cool _ . 

“Really? He watches me read?”

She eyed the man on the bed, a spark surging through her body. A spark of hope, that he was still watching her, even behind closed eyes.

“He’s always watching.”

* * *

“I was in a coma once.”

The woman gripped Nick’s hand at the other side of the bed, not just in comfort, but  solidarity . She looked like an angel, the harsh spotlight seemed to form a halo around her golden, wavy hair. 

“How long were you…?”

He gulped down the rest of his question as he realized how rude he was being. A candlelight of pain flickered in the woman’s eyes, unwavering, even with the water welling up at the bottom of her eyelids.

“Too long,” she whispered. 

Silence, and Parker pursed his lips, not wanting to disturb the angel any more. Dredging up old, painful memories for the sake of easing his own pain was not fair to her. 

“He was there, though. The whole time. Kept me company, and-and when I woke up, he...he helped me in ways that...that nobody else seemed to be able to.” 

Parker looked up at the woman, a sad smile and nod directed towards her, in acknowledgement, understanding. 

“Just like I’m going to be there for him. No matter what,” she continued on, wiping her face with her free hand before grabbing Parker’s bandaged hand. “ _ We’ll  _ be there for him.” 

His smile expanded, enlightened by her strength. He wanted to ask more questions about his father and how he helped her, but decided that those questions were perhaps better saved for another day. 

* * *

“What are you doing, Mads?”

Caught red-handed, Madison gasped, nearly spilled the nail polish onto the white blanket. 

“I was...just...I wanted…”

Her eyes started to sting and burn, something in Parker’s voice made her feel like she was in trouble, even though he was just asking a simple question. He didn’t say it in a mean way, either, just a nonchalant, “what’s going on, sis?” that she felt she hadn’t heard in  _ years _ at this point. 

The answer that she couldn’t seem to get out was that she was painting her father’s fingernails a deep, navy blue that seemed to suit him, really. 

“Daddy always paints my nails and I-I can’t do it on my own, I always make a mess!” she blurted out, suddenly feeling self-conscious over her fingers. “Fuh-Finn helped me last week b-but I can’t stop peeling and they look gross and I just want to re-do them, but I...I need practice and I’m sure Daddy wouldn’t...wouldn’t mind…B-but I can’t even seem to do  _ his  _ right…”

She looked at the first nail she coated, smudges of polish clumsily spilled out onto his skin. This was stupid, she shouldn’t have even tried in the first place. She could already hear Parker’s comment in protest, that “boy’s don’t wear nail polish, Mads!” 

But that wasn’t true. Not all boys. Not Nick Stokes, who painted his fingernails a vibrant purple color a few years back, when it was suggested that Madison paint her nails in an effort to stop her from biting them so much. 

_ “It’s okay, Maddy, see? Look at Daddy’s nails--soooo pretty! Do you want to try?” _

It didn’t necessarily stop her habit, she started to pick and peel at them instead, but not until the polish was nearly gone, because she wouldn’t dare mess with her father’s hard work. He was always so patient with her, took his time with her. They filled that time with rare solo bonding, just pure daddy-daughter time which grew shorter with age. 

“I want  _ him  _ to do it,” an answer to a ghost’s question, to an unasked question in the present time. Her voice cracked in the room, shoving down a sob that dared to escape her chest. 

“I can help,” Greg offered, emerging from his silent trance at the table near the window. “I used to paint my nails all the time, when I was about Parker’s age, actually.”

“Really?” Madison asked as Greg rolled his chair over to the other side of the bed, 

“Yeah. Actually, maybe I did it through college, too. Before we start on your hands, though...maybe we should finish your Dad’s? That way you can get a look at my handiwork.” 

“Yeah!” 

They continued to paint the rest of Nick’s nails, alternating use of the polish with each finger. To his credit, Greg did a good job, stayed within the boundaries of Nick’s nails. Madison improved with each nail, though she got shaky towards the end as her eyes wandered to her father’s wrists, still reddened from rope burn, reminded of her part as an accessory to his torture. 

As Greg began to paint her hands, she decided to focus on the pictures of her father, laid out on the table within arm’s reach. One of the pictures seemed to have a smudge over his face, she picked it up and wiped it, but the smudge wouldn’t come off...until she realized it wasn’t a smudge, that there was actually something above his lip in the picture. 

“What is that _? _ ” she exclaimed. She showed Greg the picture, because he was in it, too, he would certainly remember. 

Greg squinted at the picture before bursting out into laughter. Parker was curious, got up to look too, and put a hand over his mouth, his cheeks burning red. 

“Your...Your dad, he--he made a bet with Warrick,” Greg wheezed, pointing at the man, who Madison only knew through pictures. “That man, there. They...they made this bet and Nick lost so he had to grow and keep a moustache for a month!” 

“He looks so  _ ugly!”  _ Madison whined. She directed her attention at her father, who wouldn’t respond to her but she spoke to him, anyway. “Daddy, you’re never allowed to grow a moustache ever again!” 

“Madison, you know he technically has one attached to his beard, right?”

“Shut up, Parker! Your’s is ugly, too.” 

Parker shrugged and sat back down. Couldn’t argue with that. Greg kept smiling in the face of the bickering siblings, reminded of the similar playfulness of the people in the picture, all smiling at a Halloween party. 

“Besides, Daddy’s face is still pretty! Even with...all the...you know…”

It had been a week and a half, and the swelling had gone down significantly, his eyes were visible, but still closed. Cheeks were still puffy, though. There was still a dent in his forehead. 

But he looked a little more recognizable. A little more like Nick, even with the painted nails.

“I got beaten up once,” Greg mentioned in a low voice, almost a mumble. “Got bit, too,” he added, nodding towards Parker’s hand, which no longer had the bandage, but with faint bite marks, that Madison was still guilty over.

“Geez Louise...what kind of Lab did y’all work for? I thought y’all were just scientists!” Parker scoffed in awe of the horror, the absurdity of how much suffering the CSIs of the Las Vegas Crime Lab seemed to have endured over the years. 

“Well, to be fair...it was a  _ Crime  _ Lab.”

“How did y’all deal with...all of that?”

He didn’t need to tell Greg the details of how much he knew of the other traumas that backed up his question, but Greg just shrugged, a small smile on his face, an echo from words spoken to him by their father in a different context, but the meaning behind them was meant to be the same.

“You just do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also hope it goes without saying but yeah I'm ignoring choice parts of canon cause lbr a coma would not be the end of julie finlay.


	14. Taste of Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker's getting tired of waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and so am I)  
> warning for implied child abuse.

Two in the morning, and the patter of feet woke Parker up, though he wasn’t fully asleep anyway. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Teddy screaming at him, grabbing his hair, knocking his phone out of his hands, pointing at the ground beneath them, screaming at him, “you did this, you’re so stupid!” over and over and over. 

“Parker?” Madison whined, hopping into his bed. He could just see her shadow impeding the beam of light from the open doorway. She must have run into his room in a hurry, perhaps having another nightmare? 

“What’sa matter, Mads?” he drawled in a weary yawn. He sat up, put an arm around her shoulders. 

“Who...who’s gonna take care of us?” she blubbered as she clutched his chest. 

“W-what do you mean?” 

“I...I heard Uncle Todd and Aunt Barb talkin’ ‘bout going back to Texas…Cause school’s startin’ up again, a-and they have to take care of Grandma!” 

“I-I’m sure they’re not gonna just leave us, Madison. Maybe they’re gonna take us with?”

“No! I don’t wanna go! We can’t leave Daddy!” Her voice raised, Parker grimaced, hoping they didn’t wake up their sleeping relatives.

“Shh...shh, shh, shh, it’s gonna be okay, Mads.”

“Can’t leave him,” Madison sobbed. Parker held her close to his chest, and started to fight back tears himself. He didn’t want to leave, either. Didn’t even want to consider it. But who would stay with them, if the rest of his family would be going back to Texas? They all had their lives to get back to, jobs and families. 

He darkly wondered if they would be thrown into an orphanage. 

No, that was preposterous. 

Or maybe they would live in the Crime Lab, babysat by all of their father’s employees? 

Maybe he could ask Colin’s parents if they could stay with them?

Maybe his aunts and uncles would take turns, alternating on weekends? 

He remained silent as he kept his train of thought to himself, didn’t want to amplify Madison’s anxiety any further. She cried herself to sleep and Parker shut his eyes, unaware of the shadow of a ghost that loomed in the hallway.

* * *

It was a meeting for intended for adults only, held as the children were supposedly sleeping in after a long, restless night of bad dreams and unpleasant questions.

His hearing was bad, but eyes were still sharp, and he definitely noticed the shadow on the wall in the stairwell as the adults began to discuss the logistics of travel between California and Texas. A barter proposed by two people who looked just like Nick, just like his parents, and Grissom felt yet another pang of deja vu. The two eldest siblings took it upon themselves to keep the family together, in the absence of their father and declining health of their mother. 

“We can come down on the weekends. Or, I can, at least,” Todd offered, biting down on his lower lip.

“What about during the week? I can shift things around at work, maybe come during the first half? Monday through Wednesday?” Barb, Nick’s eldest sister proposed. 

“Nah, that...can’t do Thursday and Friday, Mom’s got her appointments.”

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. Nonverbal affirmation of the chips that they would be bringing to the table. Chips they had prepared since the minute they arrived to the hospital, more added to the stack after Grissom heard Parker and Madison’s late night conversation.

“We can watch them through the week,” Grissom spoke up. “And any weekends, too, if need be.”

“Oh, Mr. Grissom, you don’t have to go to the trouble--” Barb began.

“It’s no trouble,” Sara cut her off. “No trouble at all.”

“You’ve already done so much for this family--” Todd interjected.

“Nick is family. The kids, too.” Grissom added. He knew it would be rude to point out that Grissom and Sara had spent more time with the kids than Todd and Barb had in their lifetime, at least, as far as he was aware. Nick didn’t seem to interact much with his family outside of holidays and special occasions, while Sara and Grissom had seen the kids at least once a week, if not more. 

“You know, Nicky always talked about his CSI family but we didn’t know y’all were... _ actually _ , you know? So many ‘work families’ don’t mean this much, at the end of it all…”

Tears welled up in Barb’s eyes, Todd coughed and wiped his nose. Sara grabbed Todd’s hand, smiled at him. 

“We would do anything for Nick, and we know you would, too. Go, be with your family, they need you.”

“And we know...Nick would do the same for us.”

Sniffles and nods, Todd stood up from his chair and walked around the table, embracing Sara in a tight Stokes hug, and shook Grissom’s hand firmly and he winced--his grip was tighter than Nick’s. 

“Thank you, both of you.” 

Grissom shot a glance towards the hallway as Barb wrapped herself tight around his torso, noted how her hug felt as warming and soft as Madison’s.

His eyes lingered on the pictures on the wall, of Nick and the kids, and noticed for the first time, a picture of the CSI family hung up next to one of his larger, extended family. He saw the shadow move, and all the adults separated from their tearful embraces as they heard Parker finish coming down the stairs, red-eyed with a bad case of bed-head.

“Hey, buddy. Want something to eat?” Todd asked in a gentle voice. Parker nodded and started to walk to the table, but stopped in front of Grissom, placed a hand on his shoulder to whisper into his ear.

_ “Thank you, Uncle Grissom.” _

* * *

Buzzards haunted the front porch of the Stokes residence. Their distinctive features masked behind flashes and invasive questions, the children were rushed in and out of the house with such speed that they were only vaguely aware of what was going on, of what questions they were being asked. 

If he had to guess, Parker would be willing to bet that it was in regards to their father, their time lost in the forest, or the shooting and arrest of the convicts. All information that was on a need-to-know basis, not something to be ravaged by the public. They didn’t need to know what his father, while physically recovering, was still mentally absent. They didn’t need to know how scared Parker and Madison were, running in the forest away from the fugitives, wondering if they would ever see their father again. They didn’t need to know about the demon inside of their Uncle Jim Brass, a man who was normally so calm, humorous in his own special, dry way. Parker couldn’t help but be slightly terrified of the man, even as gentle as he was when talking to him and his sister. 

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Sofia had told the children during one of her “turns” acting as the chauffeur. “There will be a few uniforms posted around the perimeter, just keep the curtains closed, they’ll go away soon.”

While their numbers had dwindled in the past month, there were still some scavengers trying to infiltrate the fortress, but only at the front of the house. Parker had taken to sneaking out the back, even cutting through neighbor’s yards to meet up with people a block away, all in an effort to just get some fresh air. The house was getting stuffy, between the closed curtains and high volume of relatives that still stuck around

He removed his hood as soon as he entered the passenger’s side of the car, instinctively motioned to run a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes, but his hair was no longer dangling over his eyes.

“New look, I dig it,” Cassie remarked as Parker cleared his throat to cover up his awkward motions. He glanced at himself in the mirror, still not used to his new, buzz cut hairstyle and blonde color. 

He needed a change, unable to look at himself in the mirror for longer than a minute without seeing the dirt on his face, the red imprint of Teddy’s hand across his cheek, teary eyes behind blood spattered broken glasses. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Cassie asked him once they reached their destination, an empty room in a gym, a mat on the ground. One of their training spots that they had been using since Parker first posed the question to Cassie. 

“Definitely,” Parker breathed, readying himself for Cassie’s “attack.” He needed to get tougher, needed to build up his endurance, needed to learn how to defend himself. 

They had been practicing strength training once a week, using various equipment and working on different muscles. They had originally started twice a week, but Parker was too eager, overcompensated for his weaker muscles and almost hurt himself by putting too much strain on his body. “Careful, you don’t want to have to share a room with your Dad, now, do ya?” 

He thought endurance training was going to be easy, especially as they started out on a stationary bike. He found a show to watch while pedaling with the promise of only watching the show while exercising, and he always loved riding his bike around his neighborhood. But the bike became harder and harder to pedal the more he rode, he began to focus more on his breathing than the show on the monitor in front of him. He hated it, but not as much as he hated the self defense training.

The training was more like a wrestling match, something which Parker wasn’t that big of a fan of. Too contrived, too fake. Scripted, over dramatic speeches about how one wrestler was going to beat up the other wrestler. Nothing more than modern day Colluseum entertainment, minus the actual murder--although his cousins had shown him numerous videos of real wrestling injuries. He didn’t quite understand the appeal of watching someone get hurt like his cousins seemed to have.

Cassie had grabbed him from behind, put him into a basic choke hold as a warm-up, before they got to what Cassie referred to as the more intense scenarios. As she kept her arm wrapped around his neck and he struggled for air, he wondered how it could get any more “intense.”

_ “Relax.  _ You’re in no real danger here.”

_ Yeah, easy for you to say _ …

He couldn’t help but hear his father’s voice, telling him it was “okay” when it most certainly was  _ not _ . Couldn’t help but hold onto a bit of mistrust, even though Cassie and him had grown closer as she continued to check in on the kids, offered to help train him.

She was still a stranger, and he was told not to trust strangers.

“Let your body go limp, it’ll put off your attacker, loosen your body.”

He tried, but he remained tense, and somehow Cassie’s grip became tighter than before. He wriggled his shoulders against her arms, tried to kick himself upwards, out of her grasp. 

“If you can’t physically overpower your attacker, your best option will be distraction.”

He licked his lips nervously, contemplating screaming, crying out for help--he tried that last time, when they practiced in a larger room and Cassie put her hand over his mouth--in a real situation, he would bite her hand just as Madison had bitten his. Instead, he just kept struggling, screaming in a muffled voice. She pointed out to him in a harsh, but painfully true manner, how if the people across the room couldn’t hear him, nobody would.

He decided to use his voice in another manner, it was the strongest weapon he had in a situation like this, after all. He shut his eyes, off-putting phrases swimming in his mind, he waded through them to choose one that would throw Cassie off her game, found a thought that he had tucked away during the hysteria of that night in the forest. 

“Dad hates gum!” 

Cassie released Parker and he fell to the ground, panting, but smiling. For once, he got the upperhand. The distraction worked.

“What?”

“He-he told me once that he hates gum. Says it tastes like dirt.” 

Parker got to his feet as Cassie continued to stare at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

“So?”

“So...why did he leave gum in the forest?”

Cassie gulped down some water, checked her watch. Didn’t have to be a CSI to figure out that she was avoiding the conversation.

He let the topic drop and they continued their training. They worked on his fighting stance, practiced some punches and kicks, how to safely drop onto the ground--which hurt his back more than he would ever admit to Cassie, but she seemed to catch onto it, cut their training short after that. 

“I think we’re good for the day. Smoothies?” Cassie prompted. After training, they usually stopped over at a smoothie joint across the street. Parker appreciated the company, and the chance to get away from the house, from the hospital and his family. But ever since bringing up his father’s name, a part of him just wanted to go see him, as if he hadn’t been to the hospital every other day of the week.

“Nah, I…” Parker panted as they made their way back to the car. “I think...I just wanna go to the hospital, see...Dad, you know?” 

“Okay. C’mon.” 

He felt bad, Cassie had her own life to get back to, but here she was, driving Parker around like it was her job. Her job, her own interests, her friends,  _ her  _ family--an off-limits topic, judging by the lack of engagement she had when Parker discussed how annoying Madison could be sometimes, during one of their talks. He wondered what had happened to her family, if something similar had happened to one of her parents that made her so...caring. Willing to teach Parker things that he thought his own father would teach him, not some surrogate. 

He wondered if his father would ever get to teach him to drive. 

“Hansel and Gretel.” 

“Hmm?” 

“He left gum in the forest because he ran out of shirt buttons. He was leaving a trail, like Hansel and Gretel.”

“But why did he have the gum?” 

“Maybe...Maybe for emergencies? Maybe he was lying to you--”

“He would  _ never  _ lie to me--”

“Or maybe...it’s a code, of some sort.”

“A code?”

“You said he hates the taste, doesn’t chew it, but, uh...I did. Back in the day.” 

“Oh.” 

A trail left behind with a beacon meant for Cassie. Two and two equals four, but something was still missing from the equation. Another question for another day, as they pulled into the hospital and parted ways.

Parker walked up to Nick’s room, waving and smiling sheepishly at the nurses that recognized and cooed at him, remarking his change in hair. Even the officer posted outside of Nick’s room cracked a smile at the young teen on his way in. 

He walked into the room, shocked by the presence of one of his uncles and cousin, who must have just flown in. His heart fluttered in seeing the two members of his family, but his heart drained as he saw that the bed’s occupant was still asleep, unflinching as Parker grabbed his hand.

The red marks around his wrist had healed, but he was still gentle in his puppeteering of his father’s body, in case there were any more invisible wounds they didn’t know about. Nick was looking more like himself, bandages had been removed, most of the swelling had gone down. His eyes were still sealed tight, tubes still poured into his mouth, wires branched out from his chest. 

“My brother...my baby brother…” his Uncle Steve was sobbing, gripping the railing of the bed. His cousin, Jake, stood off to the side, looking uninterested, fiddling around with his phone. Parker dug his own phone out of his pocket with his free hand, texted his Uncle Todd to let him know that he was at the hospital.

“Hey, show some damn respect for your uncle!” 

Parker looked up from his phone, saw that his uncle was now grabbing the back of Jake’s hair, pulling it back and swiping the phone out of his hand.

“What is wrong you, you stupid, or something?” 

He dragged his son out of the room, and Parker’s heartbeat didn’t settle until the muffled yelling from the hallway had gone out of earshot.

_ No wonder Billy’s so messed up.  _

“Hey, Dad…” Parker started once he felt like he could talk again, though his voice was shaky. “It’s Parker. Can you hear me?” 

As usual, Nick didn’t respond to Parker’s greeting. 

“I, uh...I cut my hair—dyed it too. Here…”

He picked up his father’s hand, placed it on his head to feel the shortness of his hair. He wished Nick’s fingers would run through, mess up the care he put into it in the morning like he always did in jest, but Parker secretly loved it. 

“This is stupid…” Parker muttered, heaving a large sigh, but the movement of his body tricked his mind, made him think his father’s fingers were twitching, clutching. 

“Dad?” his voice cracked, removing the hand from his head. He examined it for motion, there was none. He left the hand drop down onto the bed from midair, it bounced off the bed and off the side of the bed. “Oh, shit—sorry!”

He placed his father’s arm back on the bed and buried his head in his hands out of embarrassment. 

“Hey, bud, how’s he doing?”

A voice startled Parker, causing him to nearly fall out of his chair. His heart didn’t slow down as he had to remind himself that the man standing on the opposite side of the bed was not his late grandfather, of which he shared a resemblance at first glance, but D.B. Russell, grandfather and now, great-grandfather to another family. Another visitor from his father’s past, here to pay his respects. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Didn’t scare me…” Parker squeaked. 

“Thought you’d be in school by now?”

“Nah, doesn’t start for another two weeks.” 

He glanced at the overflow of Nancy Drew books on the table next to Nick. Madison would have to pick another series to read to him soon enough. 

“Is he still...?”

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh. Awkward silence. The clock tick-tick-ticking down. His leg bounced impatiently, unable to think of any small talk to entertain the visitor. Eyes darted between the drawings Madison made for Nick. 

“How are  _ you _ doing?” D.B. broke the silence.

“Fine. I guess.”

“You guess? You know, they always say the first answer you pick is the correct one.”

A chuckle at a lame attempt at a joke, but Parker didn’t feel like laughing. His eyes drifted to his sleeping father, memorizing every line, every crinkle of his skin. 

“Seriously, Parker, how you doing?”

A slight quiver in his lip. Something floating from his stomach to his throat, to his eyes. He contemplated telling D.B. about the instance of abuse he just saw, on his own cousin, from his own uncle. Something he would have told his father about. But if he can’t talk to his father, who can he talk to? What could D.B. even do about it?

“I’m  _ fine, _ ” he insisted. He got up from his chair, picked up his bag and left the room. He sent a text to Colin, asking him to pick him up and bring him home. 

Time was passing, and Parker couldn’t waste any more of it waiting for his sleeping father to wake up. 


	15. Squashed Bugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parker finally decides to act his age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually been thinking about this chapter almost since this fic began, and while it doesn't quite match up to what I initially had in mind...I hope it still gets what I intended across.
> 
> warning for a stupid teenager going to a party and having drinks he shouldn't have, and mentions of child abuse

_ So...what’s for dinner? _

_ Some vegetarian shit.  _

He began to type out the words,  _ I miss Dad’s cooking _ , but deleted them. 

_ Wanna hang out after dinner? _

Madison’s humming accompanied the oscillating ellipsis on the screen as he awaited Colin’s response. He clenched his jaw, tried to drown out the hums that slithered through his spine. He tried to rub off the itching at the tips of his fingernails on his thighs, balled up his fingers into tight fists. 

He wanted to leave, he could, at any time, but where would he go? Up to his room to sulk? Madison would probably follow him there, anyway. She seemed very...clingy as of late, insistent on staying close to her brother at all times. It was cute at first, and he indulged her but lately, it was getting on his nerves.

Grissom and Sara were entertaining the multitude of guests in the other room, one last get together before everyone returns to their normal routine. Parker didn’t particularly want to talk to them, either, especially his Uncle Steve, given that the last time he saw that specific Uncle, he ended up seeing Teddy instead, grabbing his head and screaming in his ear. 

He could go for a walk, but there were still a few stragglers of the press outside, eager for news. He could see the headlines now, “Stokes child goes on a long walk to clear his head.” He could easily beat them to it and post on social media about it, nearly everyone in town followed him now, desperate for news, desperate for new developments in the “drama.”

Colin had not gotten back to him yet, so his house wasn’t an option. 

He could go to the hospital, eat dinner while keeping his absent father company. The hospital food somehow seemed more appealing than whatever Sara was cooking up. 

Then again, he hadn’t been to the hospital in over a week, and he wanted the trend to continue. 

“What color do you think Daddy would want more, green or blue?” 

“What difference does it make, you’ve already made him like, three other bracelets,” Parker sighed, his phone went dark from inactivity. What was taking Colin so long to respond? “Might as well make him the whole damn rainbow.”

“That’s a great idea!” Madison exclaimed, oblivious to the sarcasm laced in her brother’s voice. 

“Yeah, ‘Dress-up Daddy,’” Parker scoffed. He hated how she was trivializing the whole situation. He knew his father would probably hate being touched and dolled up, beyond all the other things done to his body. Soon she’d be putting his hair and beard in pigtails. 

“He’ll love all these bracelets. This one’s got some healing beads, Uncle Greg helped me pick them out,” Madison mused, ignoring Parker’s comment. “I can’t wait to tell him all about it when he wakes up.”

" _I_ _f_ he wakes up.”

Madison set down her half-finished bracelet on the table. 

“What do you mean, ‘if?’”

“It’s...it’s been over a month since he went into his coma, Mads. At this point, it could be longer. Could even be years. A-and he...he might not be the same when he wakes up, he got hurt in his  _ brain—” _

“Why are you being so pess...pess’mistic about this?” 

“ _ Pessimistic.  _ And I’m not. It’s the truth, Madison. It’s  _ reality,  _ not some make-believe fantasy.”

“You’re wrong. He’s still our Daddy. He’ll always be our Daddy!” 

“Face the facts. Dad could wake up, sure, but he won’t be the same. Might even be a walking vegetable—”

“No…”

“Bet you’d like that, huh? Dress him up all you want. Daddy sized doll, just for your amusement.”

“Stop it, Park!”

Madison’s face screwed up in hurt. Parker’s fists were shaking, the booming laughter and small talk in the next room were pulling at his fingernails, he just wanted it all to  _ stop _ . 

Parker’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the notification, from Colin, a text starting with the word,  _ “Sorry.” _

Sorry for  _ what? _ He didn’t even want to read the rest.

Stifled whimpers drew his attention away, increased the bubbling in his blood. 

“Oh, what, now you’re gonna cry? Grow up, Madison. He may as well be dead!”

Parker swiped a hand across the table, sent Madison’s bracket to the ground, the beads scattered everywhere. The cascade of clattering beads silenced the entire house. 

Madison’s breath stopped, before she broke out into a loud wail. Parker’s heart froze, rose out his body as a parade of adults ran into the room. 

He was reminded of the time—well, many times in his youth, in which Nick would run into the room after Parker made Madison cry. A somewhat common occurrence, with how sensitive Madison was. And he always ended up feeling guilty, even if it really was Madison’s fault. 

Nick didn’t run in this time, however. 

And he didn’t feel guilty, even as Madison fell to the ground, scrambling around the beads as if they were pieces of their father. Not even as Grissom’s normally soft face hardened with disappointment, piecing together the evidence of what happened. 

Parker had two choices, stay and defend his actions, take responsibility, face a small punishment. Perhaps being sent to his room, with no dinner, though that wouldn’t be that harsh of a punishment considering he wasn’t looking forward to it anyway. Or maybe his phone would be taken away, which okay,  _ fine _ , cause Colin didn’t seem eager to keep talking to him so what was the point? Or maybe a more sinister punishment, as his Uncle Steve entered the fray, fists clenched at his pants, flared nostrils. 

Fight or flight. 

He chose flight. 

He didn’t have a particular direction in mind, but the first door he flew through led outside. Pulled his hood over his head and just kept running. He didn’t even look back, didn’t even register the barks of their dog or the calls of his name. He hopped a few fences and found himself at the neighborhood park, which was mostly deserted at this time in the evening. The only occupant was his cousin, Jake, sitting on a swing with a box of matches. He lit one, watched it burn, then threw it in a puddle at his feet, lips curled at the sizzle. 

“Dinner ready?” he called out to Parker, who had found his breath quicker than he used to, thanks to the laps he ran around the gym. 

“Don’t know. Not hungry.”

He plopped down on the swing next to Jake, kicked at the mulch on the ground under a dark orange sky. 

“Where’s your shadow?”

“Probably spilling her heart out, pointing the blame on me.”

“You? The golden child?” Jake scoffed. 

He threw a couple more matches, before addressing Parker in a rare moment of vulnerability. 

“I know how that is. Never easy. Nobody ever believes you.”

More matches, and Parker’s heart grabbed at the rib cage in his chest, maybe this was a chance to get his cousin to open up. 

“Listen...if...your dad…”

“If my dad  _ what? _ ” Jake snapped defensively. Maybe it wasn’t time after all. 

“N-nothing. Forget it.”

More silence, Parker felt a throbbing buzz in his pockets. 

“For what it’s worth...I’m sorry about Uncle Nick.”

He offered Parker the box of matches. Parker took them, and lit one. He watched the flame dance between his fingers, he became entranced before the flame got too close to his fingers, he grimaced at the small burn, the match dropped to his feet, fell on top of a wood chip. 

“‘Parker the Pyro.’ I’m impressed, cuz.” 

Parker watched the flames flicker, spreading onto other wooden chips. He stood up, his heart rose with the flames as he frantically tried to kick the ground to the fire, but he just fed the beast instead. Jake laughed and kicked the puddle towards the flame, a small puff of smoke hissed out of the burnt ground. 

“Hey, wanna go do something? There’s a mall around here, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah there is, not exactly in walking distance, though, and I don’t have my wallet…”

“It’s cool, we’ll get an Uber. I got you covered.” 

As Jake made the arrangements and texted his father to let them know where they were going, Parker pulled out his phone, which had been oddly...vacant of messages for all the buzzing he thought he felt. A text from Grissom, asking for his whereabouts. A text from Colin, just a few question marks and a frowning emoji. A text from Eli, asking “ _ hey bro, everything good?” _

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and his attention was caught by an insect crawling on the ground. He studied it, trying to identify it. It looked like a beetle, a hard exterior shell covering up the softness inside. He could hear his father’s voice, listing off possible species. Listing off facts about beetles. Asking him, “what do you think?” 

He lifted his foot and squashed the insect, twisted the sole of his feet to grind down the shell into pieces.

* * *

“Parker is so mean sometimes.”

She rested her head on his chest, heard and felt the faint beat of his heart inside. Her fingers clutched the hospital gown, carefully avoiding the wires underneath, attached to his skin to monitor his heart, still beating. Beating. Beating. Beep, beep, beep. 

“I don’t care what he says, no matter what, you’ll always be my Daddy.” 

She stroked the side of his face, cupped his cheek against the palm of her hand. The bristles of his overgrown beard poked at her skin. 

“Just...just  _ please _ ...Wake up. I need you, Daddy.”

Her prayers unanswered, another plea tossed into the heap of hopes and wishes. But she wouldn’t give up, even if Parker did. She was  _ resilient _ , just like her father. 

She thumbed the beads of the new bracelet wrapped around his wrist. 

“He probably won’t admit it cause he’s being really stupid right now, but...Parker needs you, too.”

* * *

“What’s the matter, Stokes, you scared?” 

“Come on, it’s just one drink.”

“Yeah, don’t be a pussy about it.” 

“Pussy Parker Stokes.”

Uproarious laughter diminished his ego, sandwiched uncomfortably in the back seat of a car full of fellow teenagers. 

The mall trip hardly lasted longer than half an hour, before the Stokes cousins encountered the most popular group of kids in Parker’s grade, who extended the branch to Parker. Whether they truly cared or were just trying to make themselves look good by inviting Parker to the impromptu, end of summer house party out of pity, he wasn’t aware, but he went along with it anyway, desperate for something different. 

“It just...doesn’t sound like a good idea, that’s all.” 

“So uptight, just like you father,” Jake chimed in, dangling the can of beer in front of Parker’s face. 

“No. I’m not like him at all,” Parker protested. He swiped the can from the cousin and downed it in one go. 

A cheering whoop followed, which was a sharp contrast to the bitter taste of the alcohol. He wanted to expel the liquid out of his body, rinse out his mouth with something more pleasant tasting.

They gave him another beer. And another. And another. Eventually the foul taste became tolerable, and he found himself  _ asking  _ for more. His body began to float, no longer tethered with tension. He understood why people would want to do this every week, a way to relieve stress, to  _ feel good _ . 

He was completely engulfed in the moment, with his friends, everything that happened before that moment was just...white noise. 

He didn’t even realize they had arrived at Jeremy Nash’s house. Teleported from a crowded backseat to a crowded couch. He was slightly perturbed by the fact that he had not paid his actions that much attention, found that his phone was within his grasp in front of his face. 

“Oh  _ shiiiiiiiiit,”  _ he slurred as he squinted at the words on the screen. He had drunkenly texted Colin to come over...but though he sent it to the correct contact, he didn’t refer to him by his actual name.

“Who the fuck is Eli?” 

Parker sank beneath the cushions of the sofa, seeped into the cracks of the floor as Colin marched towards him, brandishing his own cell phone. He shoved it into Parker’s face, scolding him like a dog.

“You never texted me back and out of the blue I get this text asking not  _ me,  _ but some guy named ‘Eli’ to come over to the most popular guy in school’s house, advertising that there’s all of this alcohol--C’mon man, you’re better than this!” 

“Lis-Listen, Col’, baby, ‘salright…” Parker drawled, he tried to stand up but fell back down, spilled the remainder of his drink all over his lap. Dropped his phone on the ground, Colin picked it up, saw that he was now actually texting Eli some long, drunken rant about a video game that he didn't actually remember typing out. Parker reached out towards his phone, towards Colin. 

“No, it’s not alright,  _ you’re not alright, Parker! _ ” 

Colin pushed away his hand, shook his head in disappointment. The euphoria was fading fast as Parker noticed a glimmer of something in his boyfriend’s eyes. Colin sighed and bent down, put himself at eye level with Parker, gave him his phone back. 

“I...I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Colin whispered to him tearfully, a hand on his knee. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I think we should break up.” 

A voice that felt familiar, that he hadn’t heard in over a month, a voice he couldn’t quite place a name to, but one that was stinging his heart.    


_ “Teenagers do stupid stuff! Say stupid stuff! Think they’re in love one minute and then break up the next.” _

Parker laughed coldly, and grabbed another beer, chugged it shotgun style into his body, to grab that loose, carefree feeling that was daring to escape. 

“Well? What the fuck you still doin’ here? Get outta my face!” 

He splashed the remainder of the can at Colin’s face, felt hands grabbing his shoulders, the world quaked with laughter. Colin wiped the liquid off of his face and spit at Parker before sauntering away.

“Forget him, man, you deserve better!”

“Yeah, here, Stokes, have another!” 

Forget.  _ Forget forget forget. _

It was easy to forget everything, forget how he got to this party, this celebration of the end of summer turned to the celebration of break-ups. Forget Madison, forget Colin, forget Jake--where was his cousin, anyway? It was even easy to forget  _ himself _ , as he managed to get up from the couch and walk out to the porch, a makeshift dance floor as loud music pulsed through his body. A vast sea of tipsy teenagers surrounded him, offered more slurred words of comfort, that were somehow encouraging, even if they weren’t truly heartfelt.

But the one thing he couldn’t seem to forget was the thought of his father, strapped down to a hospital bed miles away, continuing to fight for his life as Parker danced his troubles away around a rim of fermented hops.

“Parker!” 

The sea parted ways, the music faded though the base still shook his body. A sharp voice called his name out, a shining light walked towards him.

“Dad?” he blurted out, started to stumble towards the figure. A wide, goofy smile spread his lips far apart, his tongue poked out, trapped between his teeth. A mischievous grin from the problem child who’s acting out finally got him what he wanted, attention from his lost father. His father was here, was going to bring him home, he didn’t even care that he was probably in a vast heap of trouble, grounded for the rest of his life. Being stuck at home while his father roamed the halls wouldn’t even be that bad of a punishment.

But as he got closer, the blurred, swirling figure was coming more into focus, and it wasn’t his father. The smile slid off his face, his feet became cement blocks, he stopped walking as something squished under his foot.

He looked down, nausea swirled in the pit of his stomach, began to rise through his throat and out of his mouth as he lifted his foot to see what he stepped on.

A mess of blood and guts and flesh. 

Shreds of clothing, the same clothes  _ he  _ was wearing before the hounds of hell dragged him away from his children.

His father, a squashed bug, on the ground. 

Snuffed out, because he was too stupid to realize what was happening around him.

_ “Take a look you little shit!”  _

Echoed words tore his eyes away from the sickening sight, lifted his stone head to look upward, at the giant, blue teddy bears suffocating him, brandishing guns, poking at him. 

“You’re gonna help us get out of here,” Teddy’s voice sneered as Parker was roughly dragged across the wooden floor boards. He tried to call on his self defense training, tighten his body, make it feel like dead weight. 

“Yo, police! Cut the music!” 

He stopped struggling as he recognized the voice of that particular teddy bear. He blinked, and the bears were transforming back into his fellow classmates, to complete strangers he didn’t know from other schools or elsewhere, to Eli, who was grabbing him by the back of his neck. 

“You’re notta cop,” Parker slurred as the music dissolved into loud groans and “boos.” 

“And  _ you’re _ not twenty-one!” Eli hissed. 

The temperature went from a humid but soothing warm to dry and frigid cold as they made it to the front of the house, to the suddenly silent street, he longed for noise to fill the void, decided to create some of his own.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"Some kid named Colin texted me from your phone. Didn't seem too happy about it, either. Plus, the whole house has been scouring the city looking for you."

“Cuzin’ still in thar,” Parker groaned. 

“Yeah, his dad’s comin to get him.”

“U’cle Steve? Nooooooo…He’ll hit’im.” 

“What?” 

“Saw’im…doin’ somthin’ to him. C-Can we just take ‘im with us?” 

Parker was shoved into the passenger’s seat of Eli’s car, a bucket on his lap. Eli disappeared for a few minutes, coming back with another groaning teenager. Satisfied that his cousin was momentarily safe, he allowed his head to drop into the bucket, his stomach spilling out of his mouth into the hard plastic.

“What were you thinking, Parker?”

Three different voices asked him the same question. He lifted his head out of the bucket, found himself at the mercy of three parents, but none of which where his father.

“Wasn’t,” he admitted, shoved the bucket out of his face. Simple phrases, single words were all he could muster. 

He was handed a glass of water, but he didn’t take it. Didn’t want to add anything more to his disturbed stomach, didn’t want anything to slide down his dry, crusty throat. 

“Give us your phone,” Sara told him, extending her palm out. 

“What? Why?” 

“Why do you think? You’re grounded, of course,” she replied flippantly. “And not just for drinking, but for what you did to Madison, too.”

“Y’all aren’t my parents. Can’t do this.” 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” Grissom concluded, and he led Sara out of the room. 

“What did you think was gonna happen, man?” Eli asked Parker as he helped him up the stairs to his bedroom. He guided Parker to his bed, brought a bucket to his bedside. He lifted the glass of water to his lips, enticed small sips to drip into Parker’s mouth, careful not to choke him. But Parker didn’t make things easy, kept fighting, spitting out the water because it was  _ poison,  _ made him feel worse. Eventually Eli gave up, set the glass on the table as Parker coughed into the bucket. 

“Eli…” Parker moaned as Eli shut the lights off, walked out towards the hallway.

“What, Park? What do you want?” Eli sighed, his voice laced with annoyance. Parker’s moans stuttered, his body thrown into a fit of hiccups and tears. 

“I want my dad.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (also just as a sidenote, gonna add a tease...let’s just say I’m very excited to share the next chapter)


	16. Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When our lives are over and all that remains  
> Are our skulls and bones let's take it to the grave  
> And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms  
> I'll be buried here with you  
> And I'll hold in these hands all that remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took so long to get this chapter out but it's here and it's happening, folks. He's BACK. 
> 
> (shoutout to the song "skulls" by bastille for the inspiration for this chapter)

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to wake up.” 

His joints cracked, the spell of stiffness broken as he rose from his slumber with heavy bones. Something in his head throbbed, as if he had run into a door. Weary fingers rubbed pulsing temples before sliding over a lightly stubbled chin. He could feel his heart pound against his chest. Beat. Beat. Beat. 

He felt displaced as he opened his eyes, expecting to wake up in his soft bed at home, not a firm couch surrounded by his colleagues. 

“Enjoy your nap there, sleepyhead?” Sara smirked behind her cup of coffee. Warrick chuckled over folded arms, perched on the arm rest of the couch. 

“I had the strangest dream,” he yawned. He peeked an eye open, felt an odd rush of relief as he spotted Warrick. He stretched out his arms above his hand, waving a vague gesture to Sara. “You were...there, I think...you too, G.”

“And you were there, and you were there...Wake up, Dorothy, you’re back in Vegas,” Greg appeared in front of him, his hand extended outward with a cup of coffee. 

“Not thirsty,” Nick shrugged off, though the smell of fresh coffee, especially  _ Greg’s _ coffee tickled his nostrils, it would be the perfect thing to ease him back into reality after such a violent, vivid dream. But he didn’t feel like eating or drinking anything

“You sure? You got a bit of drool on your chin, there…” Warrick pointed out, Nick’s cheeks burned and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. 

“Hey, seriously, you good?” Warrick asked in a low voice as Catherine’s entrance to the break room took attention off of Nick. 

“It’s fine, man, I’m fine,” Nick waved off, though he would have to admit, if nobody but to himself that he hadn’t been sleeping well as of late, plagued with paranoia, that there was someone watching him--no, it was more than just watching, it was  _ observing.  _ Recording. Cataloging. What disturbed him the most is that it was exactly what he did for his job, scrutinizing other people’s private lives under a microscope. 

Then again, most of those people were dead, and they were invading their privacy in the name of justice...but did that make it the right thing to do? Or in the case of victims who were still alive, was an investigation of their trauma worth the heavy price of their privacy?

“What happened, Nicky?” Catherine asked in a concerned, motherly tone as she stirred a styrofoam cup of coffee. 

“What?” 

“Your hair.”

Nick caught a glance at his reflection in the windowed walls of the break room. His hair was a complete mess, sticking up in all directions. Worst case of bed-head he’s had in awhile. 

He cleared his throat, patted his hair down as Grissom walked in with a stack of slips. 

“Warrick, you and Nick, human remains found at Mount Charleston.”

“Bit of a drive, but don’t worry, you can sleep in the car,” Warrick slapped Nick’s back. Nick chuckled and nudged Warrick to the door. 

“Nah, I’m good, bro, not gonna sleep again for a while.” 

After the initial small talk dissipated into a comfortable shared silence, Nick found his mind wandering to reflect upon the disturbing dream he had during his short lived nap. He didn’t remember much in terms of content, but couldn’t seem to shake off the hisses, the drilling he heard that stung in his skull. The sounds of machinery, perhaps sinister subconscious remnants from the case he worked near a construction site the week before. 

He tried to drown out the sounds by concentrating on the music from the car radio, Warrick usually had it up so high that his eardrums would bleed, but the music was softer, distant. 

“Mind if I turn up the music?” 

“Yeah, man, go ahead.”

An unfamiliar song, sounding like a pop song that would play in a dance club was blasting through the speakers and in no time Nick allowed himself to become lost in the lyrics and melody. 

“Not your usual jam,” he commented to Warrick. 

“Yeah, I was driving this kid around, figured the usual noise wouldn’t be, uh, appropriate. Not terrible, though.”

“No, it isn’t,” Nick agreed, the corners of his lips uplifted. Whatever this song was, he enjoyed it. He hoped he could catch the name on the radio, but right as the song faded out, they arrived to the scene. 

He bundled his jacket closer to his chest, he felt just as cold as if he had nothing on at all. Naked. Exposed.  _ Vulnerable _ . He hated the feeling, hated the way his bones felt fragile in the extreme cold of the night, like ice. Part of the reason he moved westward and not north was to try and keep away from this type of cold, he long for the more tolerable dry heat of the Nevada sun, which would be rising in a few hours.

The forest was a dark void that seemed to stretch on for miles, calling him, pulling him in. Even with his flashlight, he could barely make out the features of the trees and leaves around them. Glowing eyes observed Nick and Warrick, owls, most likely, though their numbers were abnormally large, Nick noted.

“You gettin’ sick or something?” Warrick asked Nick as they followed the uniformed officer down the narrow trail to the scene.

“Huh?”

“Squinting, shivering…Soon you’re gonna be complaining that everything  _ hurts _ .”

“Nah, just...forgot my glasses, that’s all.”

“Okay, old timer.” 

“Who you callin’ old, we’re the same age!” 

“You’re older than me by two months, lived longer than me.” 

“Yeah, by  _ two  _ months.”

The scent of decaying flesh was not one Nick thought he would ever be used to. Both he and Warrick grimaced as they came up to the body. 

The body wasn’t completely decayed, some bits of rotten flesh still clung to the crushed head of the skeleton, dressed in bloodied, battered clothing

“Got a tent over here. Maybe guy was camping in the woods, got mauled by an animal?” Warrick called out a few feet away.

“More like crushed by a rock. The skull looks like it caved in, unless someone or something walked on top of it. Who found the remains, anyway?”

Nick looked up and saw Brass in the distance, talking to two young children. Nick walked over as Brass walked away, his head hung and shaking to Nick.

“Who are they? They say anything?”

“Wake up and smell the coffee, Stokes, they ain’t talking any time soon. But, you’re welcome to try.”

The older boy held onto the younger girl tightly, his face masked with guilt. Perhaps he was the one who crushed the skull, most likely by accident, but Nick understood the anxiety that filled the air after an accident all too well.

Nick put on the warmest smile he could muster, the children looked so lost and distraught, in need of a hand to hold, other than their own.

“Hi,” he greeted them softly.

“Dad...what happened?” the boy addressed him. 

Nick’s smile faltered, he didn’t have kids, and wondered if perhaps he simply shared a resemblance with the children’s father, their shock mistaking him for a lost parent. He put a hand on each of their shoulders, crouched down to share eye contact with both of them.

“What are you two doing out in the woods all by yourselves?”

“Told us to run, so we did. Never stopped.”

“Sweetie, are you okay?” Nick addressed the little girl, who was slowly dissolving to a stream of tears. 

“Always be our Daddy…” she muttered in a low, quiet voice, Nick had to strain his ears to make out what she was saying. “S’pposed to be together forever.”

“Do you two recognize the body over there?”

The children fell silent, and Nick sensed that perhaps they weren’t comfortable talking in a place like this. He stood up and walked back to the body, shielding the children’s view. He took a few more pictures, lingered on a particular shot through the camera of the crushed skull, the broken pieces sticking out like shards of glass in dirt.

“Hey, Rick,” Nick began, his elbows no longer perched on bent knees, but on a glowing table, staring down at the same picture. Perhaps he did need some of Greg’s coffee, or some water, his mouth was dry, and he had no memory of coming back from the scene.

“Yeah?”

“When I die...make sure I’m cremated.”

Warrick just scoffed, but Nick gave him a stern look, to emphasize the seriousness of his request, which to him, was no laughing matter. He couldn’t stand the idea of his flesh, his bones being encased in a coffin and shoved underground, something about it seemed...suffocating.

“Hey, any ID on the remains yet?” Grissom asked, entering as Warrick exited the room.

“Still waiting on Greg for DNA results,” Nick replied, shook his head. “I just...I don’t get it, man. Why were those two kids out there by themselves? They won’t talk, but...I think they knew this guy.”

“Wake up, Nicky. Look at the evidence. There’s more to the story thank you think.”

Nick didn’t make eye contact with his mentor, kept his eyes peeled on the pictures, but took the words to heart, noticed something in one of the close-up shots of the body that stuck out to him.

Shirt buttons. One too many to be a coincidence. 

He looked at the victim’s shirt, absent of buttons. 

The victim left a trail. 

His eyes followed the buttons through the pictures, and suddenly, he was in the forest again, following the buttons along a hidden path, one that took him to more bones, some crushed, but one with a hole, like a bullet hole. 

Two more bodies.

Child sized.

He rubbed his reddened eyes as Greg drummed along to a song blasting from the radio behind Nick. Oddly, it was the same song he heard on Warrick’s radio, must be a popular new hit that was being played on a loop.

“What’s the name of this song?”

“Dunno, but I dig it.” 

Nick sighed as Greg’s fingers danced to the printer. He noticed the nail polish on the man’s fingernails. Black nail polish, black shirt, black pants.

“Tryin’ out a new look?” he teased.

“Hey, man, I used to be a goth kid, this is nothing...Oh, looks like your pile of bones is one big, happy family. Father, and two children.”

“And...their names?” 

“Gave it to Warrick, just missed him. I think he was heading down to the morgue.”

“And...you don’t remember  _ their names? _ ”

“Nick, do you know how many DNA samples I get in a day? How many victims I identify, how many  _ names  _ come through this lab? If I had a nickel for each one, I wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

“Alright, alright, cool your jets. I’ll just go find Rick. Why you so testy, G?” 

“Sorry, just a...rough night, is all.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“There’s just...someone I sort of, uh...Well, I miss them. Plain and simple. Never thought I’d be without them a-and it’s just a little...tough.”

All of the black colors suddenly made sense. Mourning.

“How about we grab a beer after shift? I’m buying.”

Greg looked at him, his own eyes red around the edges, and nodded. Nick patted the lab tech encouragingly on the shoulder and headed towards the morgue.

The stench stung in his nostrils, emitting from three bodies under the cover of white sheets on the cold steel tables of the autopsy room. The radio was playing, someone must have been down here, must  _ still  _ be down here, other than him. 

That same song. Why did it seem so familiar, why was it playing everywhere he went?

“Warrick?” Nick called out, not seeing his partner in sight, perhaps he was in another room, or in a corner, unseen. “Greg said you’d be down here…?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed at the covered corpses, the sheets seemed to rise too high to be covering just bones, and as far as he was aware, this was the only case of the night that would necessitate investigation by the coroner. 

He looked at the toe tag of the first body, the smallest one. Warrick’s handwriting on the toe tag, and his eyes widened at the listed name.

_ Madison Stokes. _

As far as he was aware, he didn’t have a relative named Madison, and Stokes wasn't exactly a common last name. 

He lifted the sheet, expecting to see the smaller bones they found at the scene, but instead found the body of the young girl, her eyes opened, and she was no longer crying...she was  _ giggling _ .

“See, Daddy? I’m never going to become a teenager, just like you wanted! Wake up, Daddy,  _ For ‘Merica’s Team! _ ”

Nick jumped back, knocked into the next table, knocked the sheet off of the boy, who had a hole in his forehead, a hole that stretched beyond his pale, cold flesh, he could see the shine of the table beneath him. The boy’s expression was blank, but his voice was high, emotional.

“I’m scared, Dad. Who’s gonna help you? You’re not dead. You’re not dead! Please, stay with me! Wake up!” 

He ran to the foot of the table, looked at the toe tag. 

_ Parker Stokes. _

The corpses fell silent, vanished from the table, as Nick drew his attention to the final corpse. Shaking hands lifted the sheet, and he didn’t need to look at the toe tag to identify the body.

_ Nick Stokes. _

But the version of him on the table on the table was much older, had a beard. With every blink of his eye, the pale flesh got redder, darker, bruises dotted all over his cheeks, his forehead, his chin. A dent in his head, the spider cracks deepened with every blink, his skin shrinking away into the decayed flesh of the remains that were found in the forest. The bones cracked and shattered into ashes that coated the table like a thin layer of dust.

Nick tried to back away from the rotting mirror, found that his own body was tightening, contracting,  _ freezing.  _ He fell to the floor, onto his back which sent a painful jolt up his spine, but never felt the actual impact of landing. The ash poured off of the table onto his body, his skin shriveled, he felt his hairline recede backward, felt short bristles of hair stick out of the edges of his cheeks, of his chin, around his lips. 

“So...did you figure out what happened?”

He let out a sharp exhale as he felt his skull caving inward, felt his ribs crush against his lung. With the last bit of carbon dioxide leaving, his body lost all will to move, and he was left on the icy floor of the morgue. 

“Easy, there, buddy, I got you. I got you.” 

His limp body was lifted onto the vacant table, and he stared blankly into the face of Warrick Brown, unaged, a sad smile on his face.

“Am I dead?” 

Warrick shook his head. 

“Not unless you want to be.”

“Is it--Is it bad that I kind of do? I’ve...I’ve missed you so much, man.”

“I know. I’ve missed you too.”

Silence, and Warrick grabbed Nick’s hand as Nick’s lips quivered, his eyes fluttered, fighting his body’s attempt to cry. Corpses don’t cry.

“I’ve been watching, though, and, uh...I just want to thank you. For everything you’ve done. For Eli.”

“You would have done the same for me,” Nick waved off. “It was the least I could do--”   


“I don’t know man, looking after  _ two  _ Stokes? It was hard enough to stop one from getting his ass into trouble.” 

They shared a laugh, Nick’s eyes welled with water. The sounds of machinery were returning, the drilling, the beeping...the  _ hissing.  _

“Madison’s such a sweetheart, though. Doesn’t seem like that much of a troublemaker. Parker, on the other hand…”

“Parker? What did he do?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. All you gotta do is just...wake up.” 

“Yeah, people keep telling me that.”

His head looked towards the two empty tables, where his children had momentarily been laid to rest. But they were no longer there, echoes of their pleas and cries for their father reverberating off of the harsh steel surface. 

“They need me.” 

“Yes, they do.”

“But...I don’t want to leave you.”

“You won’t. I’m always here, Nick,” Warrick gripped his hand tighter, placed another hand on his chest, where his beating heart should be. “You know that.” 

Banging startled Nick out of his longing gaze at his friend, coming from the body drawers on the other side of the room. The echoes from the table stopped, the music stopped, the banging even stopped. The lights went out, the air seemed to thin out. Silence, for a few moments, until discordant screams bounced between two drawers that opened and closed, arguing with each other, before shutting altogether. 

One drawer slowly crept open, fully, and Parker, with a hole in his head, sat up, reached out to Nick, tears streaming down his face. 

“Dad, just...wake up, please, for fuck’s sake!” 

“Parker needs me.” 

“Yes, he does.” 

Parker fell backwards, back onto the drawer with a soft  _ thud _ . 

“Do you know...how long I’ve been…?”

“No sense of time in the afterlife, bro.” 

“Well...see you around, I guess.”

“Not too soon, though, alright?” 

Nick flashed a smile at his friend, wrapped his fingers around his hand and shook it firmly. He shut his eyes, sucked in air through the shards in his throat, his chest. He could feel his entire body again, which meant he could feel all of the pain he had been hiding from himself. His head, his chest, his wrists, his knees, but most prevalent; his heart. 

One took last breath before he sat up, and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the morgue. 


	17. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was all there. Mind, body and soul. They found him. They found Nick Stokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all can blame @dannilea for the addition of three more chapters and the additional tags I'll be adding to this fic now. (seriously though thank you for the idea, ilu)
> 
> also during the constructing of this chapter I got super emotional and just wanted to say...if you've made it this far into the fic, know that I truly love and appreciate you and your support, this has been one of the best, if not THE BEST fic writing journeys I've had so far. I definitely would not have made it this far without all of you 💜
> 
> Enjoy.

The sole of his shoes tapped impatiently on the hospital floor, his arms folded, lips curled into a pout. He had almost not minded being grounded, perfectly fine in the confines of his room. He had made a fool of himself in front of everybody he would have had social interaction with, anyway. He wouldn’t have even touched the phone that was taken away from him. Who was he going to text, anyway? Certainly not Colin.

But he did mind the fact that he was no longer trusted to stay home by himself. For fear of what, he didn’t understand--maybe they feared he would try to raid his father’s small selection of alcohol that was hidden away in the pantry, run away, or even burn down the house. 

So he was given a choice, go to Madison’s volleyball game or go to the hospital. He sentenced himself to spend the afternoon by his father’s bedside, which he knew didn’t qualify as a “punishment” to those closest to him, although it certainly felt like one. It wasn’t as much of a sensory overload as going to an overcrowded sports game, forced to assist Grissom and Sara in the idle small talk with the parents of the other players. 

And yet, he hated the isolation he chose for himself. He contemplated leaving the room to roam the halls of the hospital. Sit with another coma patient, or maybe one that was awake, coherent. Someone to have a conversation with, instead of just sitting and _watching_. 

The therapist told him that he should try to talk to his father. “Even if he doesn’t talk back, feelings and emotions might come out that you weren’t aware you had will come to the surface.”

What’s the good in that? He knew what was lurking inside the void inside him, it wasn’t pretty. There was nothing his father could do, no comfort to offer. He would just have to repeat himself anyway, when his father wakes up. 

_If_ he wakes up.

He couldn’t even stand to look at his father, let alone talk to him.

He found himself cycling through old pictures on his phone, having crashed the waves of internet surfing rather quickly for someone who was just given their phone back after not having it for a few days. Memes and jokes didn’t seem that funny. The news was both too tragic and not tragic enough. No video could keep his attention long enough to get past the short advertisement. 

He elected to take a trip down memory lane, and the novelty of that faded quickly as he stumbled across the pictures of the trip. 

The selfies he took of himself, getting ready for the trip that would change his life forever. The light in his eyes was foreign, this boy with the messy, spiked up hair wasn’t _him._

The saved selfies of his ex-boyfriend, who he felt immense guilt over, Colin didn’t deserve him. 

The teddy bear, on the counter, in a peaceful ray of sunlight. 

Madison photo-bombing the last selfie he took. 

The beauty of the forest and mountains.

It was the heavy realization that he had reached the end of his camera roll, and it was that final picture he had taken, that triggered something within him, that caused the whole world to quake beneath his feet.

The frozen frame of calm before the storm that overtook them all.

The smile on Madison’s face, that hasn’t been as bright since, completely unaware of the danger dancing around her.

The anger, the unwarranted hatred in Teddy’s eyes, moments before his assault on Parker.

His father, restrained and beaten, lost in a concussion, a damned soul that was already in an invisible struggle for his life. 

The slow turn of the earth came to a screeching halt as the overhead lights burnt out, the glow of the machines faded with high pitched whistles and whines.

A power outage, which he at one point would have welcomed, threatened to take the life he was trying so hard to ignore.

* * *

Soft whirring, humming of machinery. 

The air was hot and humid.

His skin felt sticky with sweat but also...dry.

Dehydrated.

Boundaries around him, his arms up against some hard surface.

Something pushing down on his chest, slowly forcing the air out of his body with little to none in return. 

Suffocating. 

His chin, his cheeks, the sides of his ears were so... _itchy_. As if a swarm was crawling on his face.

Biting.

 _Devouring_.

He wondered if he had even left the box at all.

But there was something on his stomach, rising and falling down on him, which would be impossible in the confines of the box, unless some small animal squeezed through the cracks to lie on top of him.

Something wrapped around his wrists, hard plastic, his skin rubbed raw against it. He shivered, squirming at the thought that he was restrained again.

Sobs hung in the air, sobs that weren’t coming out of his tightly closed mouth. They were low, muffled through two layers of fabric, but the volume in his empty ears made it sound like it was coming from a stereo. He sucked in a large whiff of air through his open nostrils, tickled by the strong scent of disinfectant. 

Maybe he was still in the morgue, maybe the sobs, from a male, based on the pitch, were from his father, who finally realized the harsh reality of his son’s death, waking up from the dream of his non disfigured, autopsied body sprawled over the operating table.

The morgue doesn’t have a heart monitor, though, and as his eyes fluttered open, he found that he was in a hospital, found a blonde-haired boy sobbing on his body, but the sobs faded as words floated around him, his accent as thick as the air. 

“...a-and Colin, he...he broke u-u-up wit’ me, cause I was’so stupid, and you were _right,_ Dad, okay? You were right! And I jus’, I jus’ neeed…”

Nick scrunched his eyebrows up, his lower lip wobbled, as if to say something, but words were caught in his windpipe. This poor kid was obviously in the wrong place, perhaps so distraught over this “break-up” that he wound up crying on Nick’s hospital bed instead of the one of his father.

But at the same time, this kid seemed like he just need someone, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold. 

And for that matter, so did Nick. 

His eyes focused on his hand, then widened as he saw that the hand was absent of the giant red welts--which, part of him knew wouldn’t be as large and red as his imagination made them out to be. The fingernails of the masculine hand were marked, painted. The dark color at first made him think it was dirt under the nails, but the irregular shape, with the observation that some nails were still covered completely clued him in to that it was nail polish. There was a bracelet itching at the wrist, the skin was tanned a shade darker, wrinkled. The hand in front of him, the hand that was moving of his volition, did _not_ feel like _his_ hand. The added numbness of his still waking body only served to strengthen the disconnect between his mind and body

Regardless, the tingling hand landed, perhaps a bit harshly onto the boy’s head. A soft stroke of the fuzzy, buzzed cut hair, reminiscent of Nick’s own hair when it grew back from his recent shaving, rose the boy from his slump. Nick’s hand fell backward as he was shocked to find that the boy shared more than just a similar hairstyle to him...he shared a similar _face_. Thick eyebrows, almond eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that it was him, de-aged, a clone...maybe even a son. 

But he didn’t have a son.

Maybe the kid was a relative. A distant one, that he hadn’t seen in years. None of his nephews were old enough, maybe he was a distant cousin? He wouldn’t put it past his parents to drag half the damn state to see him, anyway.

Oh God, his parents.

His parents would have to see him like...like _this_. Chin covered in ants. Suddenly wrinkled skin. Near motionless in a hospital bed, feeling violated. 

He put on a tough face, if this was one of his relatives he couldn’t risk them blabbing to his parents about how their baby boy woke up crying. They would think he’s not okay. 

Then again, how could you be okay after being buried alive?

“D-Dad?” the boy stuttered, pressed a sweaty palm against the swarm on his cheek. Nick rolled his eyes to look at the fingers, to see if the ants had transferred to the boy. They hadn’t. 

“Daddy?” the boy’s voice cracked, but even if he could, Nick wouldn’t have known how to respond, as the boy climbed onto the bed and clung on, sobbing into Nick’s chest. He wished he could look at a clock, because it seemed like _hours_ before the boy’s sobs quieted, he fell silent altogether, Nick surmised that he must have fallen asleep.

Nick stared ahead into the darkened hospital room. There was a commotion right outside the door, yelling, screaming. He wondered if he wasn’t put into a hospital, but committed to some sort of asylum, perhaps the team thought his mind was too far gone after digging him up. 

The thought of which made him want to scream. He was all there. Mind, body and soul. They found _him_. They found Nick Stokes. 

The door opened and a large woman burst in, a warm smile spread across her face. On some level, he knew and understood that this woman was a nurse, coming in to check on Nick, that her intentions were very well intended and professional.

But on another level, her exuberant energy, the wideness of her smile was...creepy. Almost condescending, as she cooed at the sight of the boy cuddled on top of Nick, she walked over, checked vitals, gussied up the room.

“Well now, Mr. Stokes, it’s great to officially meet you! Don’t you worry, the power will be back on any minute now.”

He kept his mouth closed, kept his eyes on her movements as she manipulated his surroundings and body. He flinched as she touched him, his senses overwhelmed. Fingers twitched, a struggle to move them up, push her away, but his body wasn’t quite there yet. 

“I’m sure a familiar face will make you feel a bit more comfortable,” she whispered to him, and walked out of the room.

Nick inhaled through the slight part in his lips, the beeping of the heart monitor increased pace a little as he anxiously awaited someone, _anyone_ he knew the face of, the name of, to walk through the door. 

His eyes wandered to his left hand, still limp on the bed. He watched his fingers dance around, studied the chipped paint on the nails. He hoped that it was the work of one of his nieces, and not the work of the bubbly nurse or some other stranger. He was unsettled that once again, his body had been manipulated out of his control, not only undressed, but dolled up. Toyed with. 

He wondered why he had been sentenced to this isolation, where all of the people who came to his aid had gone. He remembered Warrick’s hand gripping his in the ambulance. Remembered Catherine’s hand on his leg. Remembered the words of comfort, the whispers, “we got you, we got you.” 

They got him, and then left him. 

He gulped down a cry as the scars in his throat reminded him of that feeling of abandonment, of the desperation, the _screaming_. A four letter word, that he now hated, because he kept screaming for it, and it came, and then _left him_. 

No, they didn’t leave him, not quite. They opened the lid, they got him out. He was in the hospital, _above ground_...but where were they?

The dim glow of the emergency light flickered into darkness, and his heart stopped, already half expecting what followed out of experience turned instinct. 

The lights came back on, stronger, brighter, so intensely that his body spasmed. He wrapped an arm around the boy, who was still motionless despite the sudden movement on his bed. He could feel and hear his heart pound furiously, the taste of iron spread through his mouth. Something between a groan and a whimper slipped through the silent room, the corners of his eyes dampened as he shut them again. He counted down the seconds until the light would go off, until he’d be allowed to breathe again.

The countdown finished, he opened his eyes, and the light was still on. The boy was still on his chest, unaware of the added IV of panic coursing through Nick’s body. 

One thing that had changed, however, was the door to the room was open. As his eyelids mopped away the well of tears in his eyes, he saw that there was a blonde-haired woman at the end of the room, walking slowly towards him. His heart soared, this must be the “familiar face” that the nurse referred to, Catherine Willows. Maybe everyone else would follow suit ,maybe they were just giving him some space, maybe they were the source of the noise in the hallway.

The woman got closer and he stiffened as he saw that this was _not_ Catherine, but another beautiful woman, her golden hair shining in the fluorescent light. 

“Hey,” she greeted him in a whisper, a warm smile on her face. This smile was not like the one of the nurse, it felt...genuine. Friendly. Caring. She pulled up a chair and grabbed his hand. His lips twitched, trying to entice the brewed questions out of his throat into the space between them.

“You’ve been in a coma. For, uh...six weeks.”

His eyes widened and watered. A _coma_ ? He knew there would certainly be some repercussions from the dehydration, the oxygen deprivation, the million tiny injections of venom in his body, but didn’t imagine that it would cause him to go into a _coma_. 

And six weeks seemed too short of a time, for his body to be healed of all the welts, to have grown what he now realizes is a beard on his face, and not an itchy swarm of ants. For his skin to tan and wrinkle--maybe he was in the box longer than he thought, longer than the twenty four hours he kept track of. 

“He missed you,” she commented, gesturing to the sleeping boy. “He’s so much like you, it’s incredible.”

Nick kept his eyes on the woman, focused on one question at a time, tried to will it to spoken word. The woman seemed to pick up on his struggle, picked up his hand between her own.

“You might have...trouble talking at first. I remember I did...I’m sure you remember that too.”

His eyes narrowed, a small huff in frustration. She looked down at his hand, saw how his fingers were twitching, then looked to the table beside him. His eyes followed, there was a stack of paper and crayons, and she picked it up, placed it by his hand. 

He wasn’t a lefty, and had trouble keeping the crayon between the fingers covered in a thousand needles, but as the tingling faded away, his handwriting got better. He wrote out the biggest, most important question that needed an answer, and when he was done writing, he put down the crayon, and watched the heartbreak shatter the woman’s smile, mystified her eyes. 

_Who are you?_


	18. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to go back to sleep.

She could hardly believe it, kept pinching herself, because this day was just too good to be true. One set of fingers wrapped around the door handle, the other set fiddling with her first place ribbon from the end of summer volleyball tournament.

Her heart fluttered, a rush surging through her body. They couldn’t get to the hospital fast enough to please her, her teeth chattered with excitement, her cheeks hurt from smiling. 

“Hey, it’s Sara...good, how are you?...yeah, um, I’ve actually got some good news...Nick’s awake!...Yeah, we’re going to see him now…”

Every phone call her Aunt Sara made only served to widen her smile even more. The news of her father’s awakening made everything brighter, more vibrant. Even Uncle Grissom’s eyes seemed to sparkle with life, added a little bit of youth to the wrinkles on his face. 

As they got into the parking garage, Madison quickly unbuckled her seat belt, didn’t even wait for the car to stop moving before hopping out. She bolted to the entrance, despite Grissom’s half-attempt to get her to slow down. She pressed the buttons of the elevator with such pressure and speed that they almost caved in completely. 

She made it in before Grissom and Sara, who were walking briskly through the lobby as fast as they could. As the doors closed, she saw them stop to catch their breath, waving for Madison to go ahead. 

The elevator right felt slower than ever, shaking beneath her bouncing legs. The confines of the machine could barely handle the weight of her energy, chewed her up and spit her out and she stumbled into the hallway, suddenly forgetting where her father’s room was located. 

“Daddy!” she screamed as she got her bearings back, scrambled to her feet, and ran to the door she had visited nearly every day for the past six weeks. 

She burst into the room, pounced onto the bed. 

“Madison, sweetie, wait--” Aunt Finn grabbed at her shoulder, but she slipped through her grasp, wrapped her arms around Nick, who was now sitting up. She barely acknowledged her brother, who was sitting in a chair, his hands cupped over his face, tears sliding off the edges of his fingers. 

“Daddy! I’m so happy you’re awake! I have  _ so much  _ to tell you about--I just got back from my volleyball game and you’ll never guess--we  _ won! _ ” she chattered excitedly, laughing as her eyes poured burning tears. 

Her smile faltered, though, as she realized that while she was hugging him...he wasn’t hugging her back.

* * *

He didn’t have time to prepare for the assault on his senses, as the cute, adorable bubble of a little girl popped all over him with laughter that set something off within him, something that made his fingernails feel like they were being pulled off of his skin. Her excited shouting had faded into a soft whisper, as she planted her hands on his face, searching him for the man that wasn’t there.

“D-Daddy?” she asked, and he softly shook his head. His heart cracked, the way she scrunched up her face, the way her eyes curved in, her nostrils flaring out...she looked just as similar to him as the boy did. So familiar, yet he had never seen these children before in his life, although...perhaps in a dream?

He gently moved her off of him, and she crawled backwards off of the bed. She reached to a blue teddy bear--the corners of his lips twitched as he realized it was for the Dallas Cowboys--and hugged it to her chest, sat herself next to the little boy in the chair. The two children made eye contact with Nick, and he stared at them blankly, still trying to put names to faces. 

“Parker...what’s wrong with him?” the young girl, presumably “Madison,” whispered to the boy, but her worried eyes remained on Nick.

“He doesn’t r’member us, Mads...” the boy, Parker, whispered back through a strangled sob. 

His attention was taken, however, as the blonde woman--who identified herself as Julie Finlay, but “please, call me Finn”--blocked the entrance to the room, speaking to two blurred shadows. Nick leaned over to try and get a look at the two new figures. He hoped that they were truly familiar faces, he nearly fell out of the bed when he finally identified them. 

He shoved the blankets off of him, used the IV stand to steady himself as his bare feet landed on the cold, hard tile of the room. He stumbled, his knees buckled beneath him as the two newcomers approached. They were familiar faces, and he knew their names. He nearly laughed, because he wasn’t alone anymore. 

Gil Grissom.

Sara Sidle.

But they weren’t the versions of themselves that he knew. He wondered if he had been transported to a parallel universe, or traveled in time, because Grissom’s beard was fuller, entirely as white as his hair, dressed in a floral patterned shirt that looked...wrong on him. He was holding onto Sara’s hand, rings on both of their fingers that were tangled together. Sara’s face was somehow sharper, marred with wrinkles and crow’s feet. Her eyebrows were thinner, her eyes seemed...older. 

They both seemed... _ older _ . Not just a few weeks older, but years. Decades.

“Nick, hey, it’s-it’s us, Sara a-and Gil,” Sara spoke to him, picked him up off the ground. She outstretched a hand to stroke his cheek, her fingers brushed the bristles of his beard that he still wasn’t used to. 

_ Gil? He’d never let me call him that in a million years. _

Nick removed his hand from the IV, stretched his own palm onto Sara’s cheek. She was there, she was real. Sara Sidle. She tried to smile at him, but her lips settled into a tight frown, her face painted with something...confusion, perhaps? He was most certainly confused as well, needed answers. 

He looked to Grissom, to his mentor, who was looking at Nick with an expression of an emotion he’s never seen on the man before, couldn’t even put a name to it. 

Nick opened his mouth, tried to spew out words to match his thoughts, to ask the questions that he couldn’t seem to write down. His motor skills weren’t quite all there yet, even when he was able to use his dominant writing hand, what he wrote on the paper still looked like the handwriting of a kindergartner. 

He reached for Grissom’s free hand, picked it up and held it in front of him. Just hours ago--well, hours to him, he had seen that hand pressed up against the other side of scratched, dirtied glass. Had been instructed on what to do, sworn to a promise that got him out of that box.

His hand waved back and forth, tried to wipe away the condensation in front of his eyes. He unfurled Grissom’s fingers with his own, pressed his hand against Grissom’s and kept it there, against the invisible glass that separated them. He looked into Grissom’s eyes, searched for the answer, for the plan on how he was going to get him out of this hell, trapped with people he didn’t know, and with the vastly aged people that he did know.

“Nick, what year is it?” Sara asked as she gaped at the hands hanging in the air. Nick dropped his hands, turned to the bed and searched for the crumpled piece of paper he had nearly thrown on the ground in frustration. The original question was still there, surrounded by scribbles of attempts at communication with Finn, but in those scribbles were four numbers, to answer the same question he had been asked minutes ago. He pointed to the paper as he steadied himself on the bed, looked up expectantly at Grissom and Sara for their reactions.

_ 2005 _ . 

“Oh…” Sara’s face crumbled, she pulled Nick up into her arms in a tight squeeze. Nick kept looking at Grissom, his mouth gaped open in utter shock as he picked up the messy paper. He put a hand to his lips, let out a shaky expulsion of air before he looked at Nick through condensed windows in front of his eyes. 

And his face crumbled too. 

Nick was scared, not for the first time in his consciousness of the past twenty four hours, but the feeling was just as intense as when he had woken up in a green lit hell. Seeing both of his old colleagues looking so frail, so distraught only confused him more, and Nick couldn’t help but cry out, collapsed into their bodies. His body heaved as his bones cracked, aches smoking out into the air. He wondered if his body had begun to decay in the box, in the absence of oxygen, hydration and sunlight. A wilting plant, shriveled and decayed. 

He sucked in tears and lifted his head, spotting the three strangers that he had nearly forgotten were in the room, and another, fourth stranger standing directly opposite from him that shared more features with him than both children combined.

He pushed himself through Grissom and Sara’s embrace, walked towards the man, who was closing in on him, too. Separated by a half-cabinet, he stopped walking and held a hand up to communicate with the man, who mirrored his movements.

Mirrored. Mirror. It was a reflection. It was him. 

But the man in the mirror looked... _ older.  _ Almost like his father. His father with a full beard, bruises all over his face. A small dent in his forehead, a scar right by his hairline. 

He pressed his hand against the glass, stared at himself. This was  _ not right.  _

“What’s that paper say?” Madison whispered as Nick kept staring at his reflection, his eyes flashed to the reflected children in the corner of the mirror, huddled together on the chairs. Grissom and Sara huddled together on the opposite side of the room. Finn, standing next to him, a small, sad smile on his face. 

“2005? Wha’s tha’ mean?”

“He thinks it’s 2005,” Parker elaborated.

“Why would he think it’s 2005? It’s 2035.”

A sound escaped Nick’s mouth, a sound that wasn’t human, something between a cruel, twisted laugh, and an anguished sob. 

Thirty years. 

Thirty  _ fucking  _ years. 

Was he in the coffin for that long? For thirty years, only to fall into a coma for six weeks and wake up here? Was his body preserved with embalming fluid, is that why he dreamed of the morgue? Only to be restored and resurrected  _ thirty years  _ after his premature burial? 

“He’s got amnesia, Mads,” Parker sighed. 

“What’s ambesia?” Madison mispronounced. 

“ _ Amnesia,  _ and it...it means...I can’t do this!” 

_ Amnesia? Nah, I don’t have that. I know who I am, I know what’s happened to me. Wish I did, though. _

Parker bolted out of the room, slammed the door behind him, though Nick didn’t flinch, still lost in the empty eyes of his reflection. 

“I’ll go talk to him,” Sara muttered, walked briskly out of the room. Silence filled the room for a few moments, before Nick turned around, stumbled back towards the paper and crayons. Shaky hands gripped the crayon, with such force that he nearly ripped through the paper. He wished he could just  _ talk _ .

_ Where’s Cath? _

He held up the paper to Grissom, who had moved over to the chair that the boy previously sat in.

“Vegas,” he replied in a weary voice. His eyes were red, he seemed even older than before. 

Nick furrowed his eyebrows,  _ what kind of answer is that? We are in Vegas! _

He began to write out his next question, and the little girl tugged at Grissom’s sleeve.

“Uncle Gris’m, what does ‘amnesia’ mean?” 

“It means your father is having a little trouble remembering things right now,” Grissom explained in a low whisper, as if Nick couldn’t hear him, but Nick shot daggers at the older man. “Doesn’t remember what happened to him, may not even remember himself--”

Nick scoffed, pointed a finger at his chest as he continued to scribble.

_ I know who I am. I’m Nick Stokes. _

“He thinks it’s the year 2005, almost thirty years ago now.”

“So does that mean...he doesn’t remember...me?”

Nick cleared his throat to get Grissom’s attention, held up the paper with his next question in the air. 

_ Where’s Warrick? _

A shaky hand reached out, took the paper out of Nick’s hands. Grissom stared at it, like it was the biggest puzzle of his life, his face slowly melting, screwing up, his eyes shut tight. He hunched over, held the paper to his forehead. 

And he started to cry.

Nick didn’t know what to do, and neither did the little girl, neither did Finn. Finn walked over, curious as to what could have caused such a reaction from Grissom, must have recognized that this was  _ definitely  _ out of character for him. Nick looked to her, as she read the question, hoping that she would have the answer--but all she could do was sit next to Nick on the bed, grab his hand, shake her head as tears welled up in her eyes. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him. 

Madison snatched the piece of paper out of Finn’s lap, as Nick shook his head at Finn, his eyes pressing for more information.

“Warrick? You mean...Eli’s Dad? He’s in Vegas, too, Daddy,” the girl spoke slowly and loudly. Something about her overcompensating tone set him on edge, perhaps he was just annoyed that nobody was giving him a straight answer. 

_ I may be a little older and have “amnesia” apparently, but I’m not deaf, you little shit.  _

He grabbed a book from the table to write on top of--a Nancy Drew book, which seemed familiar to him, somehow. It was easier to write on a harder surface, though the crayon was flattening out, made his handwriting look even more infantile. 

_ But we ARE in Vegas  _ he wrote onto the paper, before adding  _ And I’m not your Daddy. _

“Yes, you are,” Madison told him. She put a hand on his knee and he winced, feeling a sharp ache before she removed her hand quickly. “I’m Madison Stokes, your daughter. And we’re in San Diego, California.” 

_California?_ _Why would I ever leave Vegas?_

“Don’t worry, though, you told me that Warrick’s always with you, right here--” Madison continued, pressing a finger against his chest, where his heart was beating rapidly, which only served to confuse her even more. Why would he ever say Warrick was  _ inside  _ of him?

The gesture made Grissom, who had quieted since Madison started talking, cry harder. Even Finn got off of the bed, walked to the other end of the room. 

“You told me he's always watching you, and me, and Parker, and Eli...up in heaven.”

His heart stopped beating. Fell to the floor with a loud  _ thud _ . Or did  _ he  _ fall to the floor with a loud  _ thud _ ?

His knees shouted at him, popped as he stood up and just...walked away. 

This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening.

He was still in the box. 

He was hallucinating.

There is no way he could live in a world where  _ he  _ survived being buried alive, and his best friend didn’t.

_ Thirty years later. _

No way in hell.

And he knew all about hell, he was just pulled out of it, screaming and sobbing. 

Just like he was now, in this moment, his body rocking and heaving with sobs as he stood in front of a mirror, looking at the man he would become in thirty years, bearded and battered, the father of two children, presumably betrothed to a woman he hadn’t even met yet. 

In a world without Warrick Brown.

“NO!” he yelled into the mirror, refusing the reality in front of him. He threw a fist into the mirror, then recoiled back, fell to the ground cradling the bloodied fist, glass ants penetrating his skin. 

He sat on the uncomfortably cold floor, shook off the hands that were trying to pick him up. Ignored the voices--although, the little girl’s was the loudest, and quite hard to ignore, “Daddy, you’re scaring me!” Each syllable of the word drove the knife further into his heart. 

_ Just leave me here. Push me back down. Put me back down there _ . 

“Hey... _ hey _ ,  _ Nicky… _ ” a soft voice whispered into his ear. The use of a nickname seemed to flash him back, back to the box, back to the brink of death, back to a similar moment of hopelessness, when he thought that his life was truly  _ over _ . 

_ Yo, Nicky! We got you, man! We got you! _

He opened his eyes, hopeful that it was Warrick, beckoning to him from the other side of the glass.

But it wasn’t. It was Greg Sanders, the next man Nick was going to ask about, and he had never been happier to see the man in his entire life, almost wanted to kiss him. Nick reached out, grabbed his shoulder with a vice grip. 

“Why?” Nick asked in a strangled whisper. He kept choking on his own sobs, he couldn’t breathe. His head  _ hurt  _ and he just wanted it all to end.

He wanted to go back to sleep.

He shut his eyes as he fell into Greg’s chest, in an attempt to do so. He kept them shut as his body was lifted, placed back onto the soft hospital bed. He felt his bones crackle and pop as they settled into limbo. He continued his search in the endless void for the door to dreamland, to go back to the best years of his life, working in the crime lab, working with  _ Warrick _ . He was almost there, could just see the hazy outline of Warrick Brown, shaking his head at a clean shaven, messy-haired Nick Stokes, who had fallen asleep on the break room couch. 

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to wake up.”

His mind remained in the dream, the events played out in the same way they had before, except at the end of it, Warrick was gone, and he woke up before he could say goodbye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear...the fixing will begin...soon.


	19. Fill the Gaps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cards, distractions, and questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie...kind of had a rough time with this chapter, and I think this will be the end of the hospital stuff. I also slipped in a reference to Madison and Parker's parent, who, up until this point I have left a mystery, and in perhaps what might be a slightly controversial decision...I may have finally answered (although not completely), at least for the sake of this fic, in which Nick is a single parent. I might explore more of that identity in later fics, but if you're headcanon-ing the other parent as someone else, feel free to ignore that bit!
> 
> (also I may have thrown a nod to an unrelated to Parker/Madison future project I've got in mind)

“Don’t move, Mr. Stokes. Lie as still as you can.”

He wanted to make a joke, ease up the tension that made his hands grip the flimsy hospital gown so tightly that his nails cut into the fabric. 

_ Please, “Mr. Stokes” is my father… _

Or rather, Judge Stokes. 

Who  _ was  _ his father.

“Don’t worry, Daddy, Warrick’s not alone, Papa Cisco’s up there with him!” the girl, Madison had announced to him before being abruptly removed from the room by a still distraught Grissom. 

“Are you claustrophobic, Mr. Stokes?” 

He was happy for the distraction.

He shook his head. 

They had explained the process to him, explained why they were doing it. But really, he didn’t care. They could do whatever they wanted to him, at this point, and he wouldn’t put up a fight. He just didn’t want to be trapped, alone, in his thoughts of dead friends and relatives. He both did and didn’t want to know how, wanted to know why, wanted to know if anyone else had been buried as he was dug up from his own grave. 

“Do you have any gunshot injuries?”

He shook his head, and frowned at the thought of just how close he had come to having one, by his own hand,  _ twice _ , in his last day of consciousness. Almost one in his foot, and almost one in his head.

Maybe he had done it. Maybe he was never rescued after all, and this was just his mind throwing together some future, in which he had raised two beautiful children, in which he outlived his best friend, his father. In which his friends, both old and new--well, most of them, at least, seemed to be relatively happy. 

Something had spiked up in his chest at the question, but he shrugged it off. Probably just a flutter of nerves. 

“Are you a welder, or machinist?”

He shook his head. If he was, maybe he could have improvised a way out of the box.

“Are you enlisted in the military?”

He shook his head, though the thought had crossed his mind when he was young and eager to prove himself, though he found other ways to protect and serve.

“Any tattoos?”

He paused before he shook his head, both wondering if he did in fact get a tattoo in the last thirty years, because he’s always wanted to get one, and why it would matter if he had one, for an MRI.

He must have had a puzzled expression on his face, because the attendant smiled. 

“That question trips everyone up,” he dropped his professional persona, put on a comforting, casual one. “Old ink might have bits of metal in it. Just like the shrapnel, wouldn’t want anything to you know...get attracted by the magnet.”

Nick raised his eyebrows, his throat throbbed with the threat of some sort of protest, out of fear, as he recalled an explosion, one that blew his glass cage to bits, and all of the  _ metal  _ along with it. From the gun, from the tape recorder. He wondered if there were bits of glass embedded in his back, given the sharp pain that worsened in his spine with every uncomfortable squirm.

“Remember,  _ don’t move _ , or else we have to do it all over again. Here--a pair of earplugs, it can get rather loud, unless you wanted to listen to music?”

He accepted the ear plugs, preferred the silence, after the auditory overload of people talking to him, crying to him, of his own sobs and screams shattering his eardrums. They told him this would only take sixty minutes at most, anyway. 

He could handle sixty minutes. 

What’s one more hour on top of twenty-four?   


His body began to float, he found it difficult to look at his feet, his jaw clenched. He could just see over the edge of the cream white canvas in front of him, by straining his eyes to a dizzyingly low angle. It was more comfortable to look straight ahead. 

He knew that it was not an enclosed tube, having seen the machine when he entered the room in a wheelchair. Knew that his entire body was not  _ actually  _ enclosed in a tight space, but he couldn’t help but equate the loud banging with the hammering of nails into a circular coffin--an auditory cue that he had thankfully missed when he was encased into the underground prison.

His hands were above his head, unable to push against the hard surface that seemed to be getting closer...and closer...and  _ closer _ .

He was immobile in his terror. Alone.  _ Helpless. _

Unable to form the words, to tell the attendant that “okay, man, maybe I’m, uh, not that big of a fan of tight spaces after all” and ask for the sedative that he turned down the minute he was told about the procedure, his vocal chords rang out with a loud, primal scream that damn well shattered the glass bits of the machine and of the observation window.

* * *

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

He was so embarrassed. Damn near thought he had pissed himself, as he broke his promise and moved frantically against the machine that was not actually closing in on him. It was a terrifying and gross sensation, reminded him all too well of the uncomfortable situation he faced in the box. 

He had only just stopped crying by the time they brought him back to his room. Drained, he curled up on the bed, facing the wall, unresponsive even as Catherine Willows barged in, her eyes lit with a furious fire. 

“He said he wasn’t claustrophobic,” the attendant protested. Catherine was standing at the other side of the bed, petting Nick’s shoulder. 

“Clearly, and--no offense, Nicky, he’s not in his right mind to answer those questions for himself!” 

“Just because he’s nonverbal doesn’t mean that he isn’t able to give consent--”

“And just because he has amnesia doesn’t mean that he knows what he can and can’t go through! Do you have any-- _ any  _ idea what he couldn’t possibly remember? Trauma be damned, you should have  _ waited  _ and asked someone who has been around for the past thirty years--”

He wanted to throw up, felt the need to  _ actually  _ relieve himself. He found himself rolling over off the side of the bed, stumbled toward the bathroom. He retched, but nothing came out. His hands shook as he lifted his gown, but he couldn’t seem to keep a firm grip, between the nausea swirling in his stomach and the painful throb in his crotch. 

Frustrated, he ripped the gown off his body, shimmied off his briefs, but as his business in the bathroom concluded, he stole a look at himself in the mirror once again.

He still couldn’t seem to connect the image of the man with the overgrown hair and beard with himself, but the disconnect became even greater, as his eyes drifted towards his bare chest, decorated with two faint scars spaced a few inches apart. Based on the shape and size, he would identify them as bullet wounds.

He nearly fell into the door as he burst out of the bathroom, staggered over to Catherine and grabbed her shoulder to keep himself standing, used his other hand to grab her own and place it on his chest.

“S-scars?” he asked in a low, cracked voice. 

Her face, which had still been sharp, hardened in her chastising of the now absent attendant, fell apart, her eyes hidden behind a thin sheet of tears. 

_ Why does everyone keep cryin’ when they talk to me? _

“You were shot, Nicky,” she told him, stroking her hand over his. “There was this...serial killer, Dr. Jekyll?”

She spoke purposefully, as if saying his name would inspire Nick to remember. He shook his head, his eyes wide, mouth parted. Short bursts of air shot out of his lungs like darts. 

She reached behind her, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around him, guided him towards the bed. 

“Breathe, Nicky.” 

“Don’t ‘member…” he struggled to say. It was frustrating, not being able to form complete sentences. “But hurts?” 

“Oh, hey, here—Lindsay couldn’t make it, but she gave me this card to give to you,” Catherine was eager to change the subject, distract Nick from his despair. She handed him a card. 

He opened it, read it and smiled, picturing the young teenage girl, around the same age as his own son. 

Or at least, was the same age. For all he knew, Catherine could be a grandmother, at this point. 

He set the card on the table with the rest of them—he didn’t even think he knew that many people, though his eyes landed on a hand-drawn card, from his own daughter, also signed by his son. 

He picked up the card, his bottom lip quivered, tongue waving over before he stuttered a nervous question. 

“Bad Dad?”

“Why would you think that?”

_ What kind of father am I if I can’t remember them? _

He struggled to say the words, threw the card down and buried his head in his hands. He rubbed at his pounding head, tried to stifle the cries that whined in the back of his brain.

“Listen, Nicky, you love those children more than anything in the world. Give it time, you’ll remember that.”

* * *

“This was during, uhm...Hedge’s birthday? No, that doesn’t sound right…”

“Henry!” Nick exclaimed, pointing at the man. His heart fluttered, though he was confused as to why he and Greg were out with two of the lab techs--one of which Nick didn’t know that well, and the other that got on his nerves even more than Ecklie, but he was excited to see some faces that he could put names to.

“‘Eg…?” he muttered, pointing at Henry’s crutch. He waved over everyone’s heads, bandaged and bruised. “Heads…”

“Yeah, apparently y’all got into a bit of a car acc’dent. You said you rolled the car to save everyone.”

Nick felt a twinge of guilt, that apparently his poor driving skills had gotten them into a bit of a rough spot, and a twinge of sadness as he stared into the four happy faces of the picture. 

He wished Warrick had been there, too. 

“Oh, and this was at Aunt Sofia’s wedding, there’s her wife...Oh! There’s you, Daddy!” 

He saw a younger, but still older version of himself that was clean shaven, a wide smile on his face, an arm wrapped around the waist of a beautiful woman. 

He pointed to the woman, tapping in question. 

“That’s Mommy. You don’t talk about her that much…”

He nudged Madison, frowning. 

“It makes you sad when we talk about her.”

He frowned even more, seeing the sadness in the young girl’s eyes. He couldn’t imagine why he would not want to tell his own daughter about her mother. 

“Pretty,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah, she is.”

“Like you.”

Madison beamed at him and laid her head against his chest. They continued their journey through the photo album, an effort to fill at least some of the gaps of the last thirty years. 

* * *

“Mr. Stokes?” 

It was weird, calling him “Mister.” Calling him “Stokes.” Having to put on the cold, professional facade to talk to the victim in the case that had remained open far longer than it should have, all because she was waiting for a light to be shed on one final piece.

The victim’s testimony.

She didn’t have to be the one to do this, could have easily passed it onto another CSI with less personal connection, but  _ everyone  _ in the San Diego Crime Lab knew Nick Stokes.

And none of them, save for maybe Sara, knew him better than she did. 

She also knew that while he still had amnesia, while he was still in the later stages of his recovery, that he wouldn’t quite be ready for such a discussion, but she wanted to open that door, and maybe he would walk through it faster, somehow. 

“My name is Cassie McCormick, I was the lead CSI on your case,” she introduced herself, extending a hand. She took notice of his bandaged hand that shakily touched her fingers, the furrowed eyebrows in concentration as he was obviously trying to place her name to a face in his head. She spotted the photo album next to the sleeping girl on the couch on the other side of the room. She wondered if there were any pictures of herself in that album, but had her doubts. Their relationship was more private, undocumented. 

“Cassie…” Nick parroted. “Card. Cassie card.” 

He spun around, sifting through a pile of papers on the side table, searching for something. He found it, thrust it towards her. A folded piece of paper, the front side decorated with a mountain, a cliff side. At the bottom, a stick figure drawn in a box, filled with dots. An angel at the top of the paper, holding a poorly drawn map, a dialogue bubble, reading “he’s here!”

It took her a minute to realize, it was a rough recollection of the events that had transpired, though the details weren’t quite right--she wondered if this was the abduction he had referenced before, when he had once admitted to her that he had been taken, too. 

The inside of the card made her eyes sting, she reached out, ended up grabbing his arm instead of his hand, but held it tight. 

_ Thank you for finding me. _

Her heart soared, perhaps he had recognized her after all, maybe the amnesia was gone--but the look in his eyes was still...vacant. He was looking at her, but he wasn’t seeing the woman he knew, just the woman he knew  _ of _ . 

“You’re...You’re welcome, Ni--Mr. Stokes,” she choked out. She sat down in the chair next to his bed. 

“When you’re feeling better, I want to ask you what you remember--”

He rolled his eyes, which made her chuckle a little.

“I know, poor choice of words. But in the meantime, I thought you might want to know some of the details, help you...see the bigger picture.”

She pulled out a file from her messenger bag, placed it on the bed, along with her card. 

“When you’re ready to talk, you call me, okay?” 

“L-luh…” he started to speak, but the words were unintelligible, broken. He moaned and reached for a piece of paper and a crayon.

_ How long have we known each other? _

The question shot pins into her heart, which had fallen somewhere in her stomach. She felt dizzy, an itch in her throat that caused her to stand up, walk towards the exit.

But she couldn’t leave him hanging like that, not after all he’s done for her. 

“Thirty years,” she told him. “About...thirty years, now.” 

She left before he saw the tears pour out of her eyes.

* * *

“Pidgeot used Gust! It’s super effective! Yes! We did it, Dad!”

His eyes fluttered open to find Parker sitting next to the bed, holding a small green machine in his hands that he recognized as a Game Boy. 

The boy noticed the sudden action from Nick, seemed to jump out of his skin a little and sat up straight.

“Oh, hi, uh…” the boy muttered sheepishly. “Guess I’m not used to talking to you with your eyes open yet…”

He cleared his throat, wiping a finger over his nose. His tongue licked his lips as he set the game down. 

“Game?” Nick asked in a light voice with a half-smile. 

“Yeah...Yeah, it’s actually yours, you gave it to me. Here, you wanna play?”

He thrust the machine towards Nick, and as he held the portable console in his hand, he was thrust back into happier memories of playing video games with his colleagues in the break room. A welcome distraction.

“Whoa, now that is a piece of ancient technology right there.”

Nick looked up to see a ghost standing at the end of his bed. 

They lied to him. 

Everyone lied to him, and for once, he was okay with that.

He was  _ alive _ . 

“Wah-War-ick!” he blurted out, dropping the Game Boy to the floor as his body shook in waves of relief. He reached his arms out towards the approaching man.

“Oh, Dad, no, he’s not--”

“It’s okay. Hey, Uncle Nick. Aw, I’ve missed you too,” the man spoke to Nick, who had reeled him in as soon as he was within arm’s reach. 

“That’s Eli, Dad, that’s not Warrick!” Parker hissed into Nick’s ear.

“Eli?” Nick whispered in a soft, higher voice, emphasizing the syllables in the spoken name. The name was familiar, but how?

“Not Rick…” Nick muttered as he pushed the so-called “Eli” away with some disappointment. 

Disappointment and distractions had become the theme of what was a long, exhausting exercise in Nick’s patience. By the end of it all, he was finally left alone as visiting hours were coming to a close, and he found that he was actually grateful for the isolation. 

Or at least, for the first minute or so.

It was an odd feeling of deja vu, sitting in a hospital bed, questions swarming in his head, the biggest one daring to jump out of his mouth at full volume, “What just happened!?” 

His friends were not exactly helping, they seemed to be hiding information from him--he caught Catherine whispering to Sara, “let’s not tell him about the camera just yet,” which set his brain into a frenzy greater than that of his experience in the MRI machine. They didn’t even want to tell him what had made him fall into the coma in the first place, using the excuse--if it could even be considered as such--of “we don’t have to talk about that right now,” a phrase that he has heard before, during another hospital stay, and wouldn’t be surprised to find out was used many times after. At least that one woman gifted him the case file that he still hasn’t touched, because he was smart enough to realize that today was draining enough, without adding more fuel to his brain-fire.

It was also frustrating and upsetting to be constantly visited and told about people who were obviously close to him, friends and perhaps even more that he couldn’t name. He was polite, as he always was, but there was something unnerving about talking to people who knew him better than he knew himself, at this point. 

He was pacing around the room when his last visitor of the night had come in. Gripping the hair on his head that he just wanted to rip off, his hands wiping over the beard on his face that was just  _ too itchy _ . 

“Hey, how did today go?” 

“Buh...Buhhhhh…” Nick stuttered, slammed his fists down onto the bed because he just  _ couldn’t say the words _ . 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re gonna have some bad days,” Finn told him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

He shrugged her off, kept pacing some more. He hated the hospital, hated the over-exposure. Hated the sterility of it, the uniforms, the firmness of the cushions. 

“Do you want me to get you something?” 

He put a hand on her chest, felt her heartbeat increase quickly behind it.

“Do you want me to leave?” 

He shook his head, pounded a fist on top of the counter in front of the mirror. He stared into the broken pieces, could already hear his father’s mock-chastising at the added charge to the hospital bill.

“ _ Jeezus, Pancho. Ain’t you got enough bad luck already, boy?” _

Is what he would say. If he were alive.

“I just want to go  _ home _ ,” he admitted to Finn, could see the shock in her reflection as he was able to form a complete sentence. He would be shocked himself, if he wasn’t distracted by the question of what home had become to him in the last thirty years. 

It wasn’t in Texas. Wasn’t in Vegas. His home was now in San Diego, but where was his heart?


	20. A is for Ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustration and fear, the beginnings of a terrible day for a still recovering Nick Stokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF this chapter took longer than I thought, but man...I've been so excited for this bit!! Ended up deciding to split what I originally had planned into two chapters, so one more chapter of new suffering, and then I SWEAR things will stop hurting our boy!! 
> 
> Some implied Nick/Finn and uh...more than implied Nick/Greg, but not super heavy amounts.

It was a surreal sight, watching Nick Stokes walk in through the front door of his own house. Watching him eat at the dinner table. Watching him pet their dog. Watching him sit on the couch and watch a movie.

He wasn’t watching his father, he was watching a man who had never been in their home before ask where the bathroom was. He watched a man who was so ravenous he ate in large, sloppy amounts as if he had not eaten in a week. He watched a man, who was an obvious animal lover, pet a dog in a more reserved manner, not wanting to overstep boundaries with the unfamiliar four legged creature. He watched a man who sat on the couch at a distance from his children, his body tense because he still wasn’t comfortable in his own  _ home _ . 

He was watching a man that both was and wasn’t Nick Stokes. 

At his core, he was still Nick. Still looked like him, talked like him, still had a lot of his mannerisms, still seemed to have that softness, that empathy within him. 

But he didn’t have the experience in raising children, didn’t have the years of wisdom behind him. He was a thirty-three year old man in a sixty-three year old’s body, coming fresh off of a traumatic experience that left him in a near-dissociative state, not fully awake from the coma he fell into. 

His cognitive and motor function had mostly returned, he was able to write better, the tremble in his hands and wrists had stopped. He no longer flinched when a light was turned on, or at the sound of something closing. His speech had also vastly improved, thanks to therapy sessions and help from Finn, though Parker could tell his father was struggling with having to partake in such infantile exercises, such as flashcards and board games. 

Finn had tried to make it at least somewhat fun for him, slipping references to their world of forensics, but Nick’s patience grew thin with it nonetheless.

“E is for  _ entomology _ ,” Finn danced the card in the air, and Nick shook his head, missing the reference. 

“You studied entomology for a bit, at one point,” Finn told him, the smile faded from her face.

“Really?” Nick snorted. His fingers itched at a particularly red spot on his skin, Finn raised her eyebrows at him and he stopped. “Don’t make a whole lot of sense, considering…”

“You said it was because the other ‘Bug Man’ had left, wanted to follow his footsteps.”

“Grissom?”

“Yeah.”

“He left?”

“About three years before I started, yeah.”

“Man...I never…Never thought he’d…”

He shut his eyes, though just as he had been for the past week, he was plunged back into a green-lit hell, nothing but dirt in front of him. The dirt scattered away, in its place came Warrick, for a flash, before he left. Grissom came in his place, put a hand on the box…

But he left, too.

“Let’s get back to it, shall we? E is for  _ entomology _ ,” she repeated, except this time, a bit slower, to lull back Nick into the game.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and ‘F’ is for--’fu--” He began irritably, scrubbing the image out of his eyes.

_ It’s been thirty years and a fucking week, get over it, Stokes _ .

“Nick!” Finn nudged him in a harsh whisper, though her lips twisted into a smile. She nodded to Madison in the corner of the room, who insisted on sitting in for support. (“Take notes, Daddy, there’s gonna be a test later!”)

“... _ Fudge _ .” 

He managed to get a contagious laugh out of the woman, and they stopped with the games for the day as they swapped quips back and forth, bursting into fits of giggles. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought this woman could have been the mother of his children.

A surreal sight for his kids, to watch forgotten, established relationships be reborn through small talk and Nick being...well, Nick. Though Parker wondered how long it would take for their relationship to be renewed, reach the level of trust and unconditional love they had for each other. He couldn’t help but get a little jealous as Nick made friends quicker than remembering how to be a father. A role Parker had bestowed upon himself, as soon as he left that forest.

It was surreal to refuse lunch money from his father, stating that “we have food at home,” as well as the fact that Madison’s school cafeteria did not offer purchasable meals.

Parker was preparing food for himself while Nick was attempting to make a lunch for Madison, something he claims he would help his mother with, a story he’s told many times and will probably many more. 

Not that Parker minded, because it felt like he had his father back for a few moments, bouncing around the kitchen, recounting tales and singing under his breath. For the first time in too long of a time, their house felt like  _ home _ . A morning spent with just Pancho and his Panchitos. 

“I don’t like jelly on my sandwiches…” Madison pouted as Parker sat back down at the table with his packed lunch, whipping out his phone to text his newly reinstated boyfriend. Madison had been pleased enough to have the opportunity to help her father re-learn things, but seemed to get frustrated over small things that  _ Daddy should know! _

“Give him a break, Mads, he’s tryin’,” Parker hissed to her, but his face erupted with glee as he saw Colin’s name on his lockscreen.

_ Yo you ready, hombre? _

_ Just about! Waiting on Uncle Greg to show up to watch Dad. Can’t wait to see you xx _

Nick must have heard the whisper, his cheeks burned a bright red, his singing got a little louder--to distract from his blunder--as he dumped the tainted PB&J sandwich, and made just a normal peanut butter sandwich for his daughter instead. 

“Here, sweetie,” Nick handed the packed lunch to Madison. “Have a good day at school,” he quickly added, with an attempt at a warm smile on his face. He motioned to give her a hug, then a high-five, but just awkwardly gripped her shoulder instead. 

“Thanks…” Madison grumbled. Nick cleared his throat and began to fill the coffee pot. Parker was surprised that he hadn’t made coffee before breakfast, wondered if perhaps he was waiting until the kids were taken care of, or until Greg would arrive to fill the pot--he tried to make some excuse, any, to avoid thinking that perhaps he was still a bit scrambled in the head, doing things out of order. It was the first morning that he was “trusted” to be with the kids alone, not because Nick would have done anything to hurt the kids, but rather friends and family alike were still helping Nick with the challenges of fatherhood and recovery. 

“He hates peanut butter, you know,” Parker murmured to his sister as she sulked past the table, it was time for her to go to the bus stop. “Only has it in the house ‘cause you like it.”

“Whatever.” 

Parker opened his mouth to make a snide remark about Madison’s sudden change in attitude, wondering when  _ he _ had become the optimist in the family, when they both stopped at the sound of a sharp inhale, trailed off with a whimper. 

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

Parker got up to assist his father—Nick’s hands were trembling, clutching the collar of his shirt. Pulling, stretching the fabric. Short bursts of air through clenched teeth. Stifled sobs twitching the wince on his face. He stumbled back, let out a short yell as his back impacted the corner of the counter. 

Parker moved forward, reached out for his arm as Nick’s shirt was tearing. He shot a glance to what caused such a reaction out of his father. He couldn’t see anything but spilled coffee grounds on the countertop, the bag still pouring out a waterfall to the floor below.

“Dad! Hey, it’s okay--” Parker raised his voice to snap his father out of his hysteria.

“No, stay back!” Nick gasped sharply, shoving Parker aside with an elbow as he continued to wrestle with his shirt. “They’ll get you--ants, they’re ants, they’re  _ just ants _ \--don’t move—on my faceeeee—burn, it  _ burns!” _

He took the bits of fabric and began to move them towards his nose, his free fingers scratching at his cheeks as he stuffed the wads into his nostrils. 

“Ants, what ants? There’s no ants...” Parker muttered as his father fought off an invisible army attacking him. He was clawing at his neck, muttering and cursing under his breath, holding his breath before loudly gasping for air. Red streaks striped down his neck, Parker was worried that he was going to break skin.

“Stop scratching, Dad, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“Parker…” Madison began softly, tugging Parker back towards her. “Maybe we should call Uncle Grissom?” 

“Yeah…” Parker murmured. He kept his eyes on his disturbed father as he punched in Grissom on speed dial. He picked up on the first ring.

“Parker, what is it, is everything okay?” 

“It’s-It’s Dad, he won’t calm down, keeps muttering about ‘ants? Won’t even let me get near him--”

“ _ Ants? _ ” Grissom asked sharply, quickly. “Do you see a trail of them, or--?”

“There aren’t any ants, just some spilled coffee...grounds…” Parker’s voice trailed as he made the connection. He could see how easy it was to mistake the spillage could look like a small swarm of ants. 

Greg Sanders, who had finally arrived and essentially entered into a room on fire, made the same connection in an instant. 

“Nick! Hey, Nicky, what’s wrong?” 

Greg gripped Nick at his shoulders, Parker couldn’t tell if Nick was struggling under Greg’s grasp or Greg was shaking him, trying to snap him out of his trance, but Nick’s eyes widened, moved from the counter to Greg. 

“Ants!  _ Everywhere _ !” He blurted out in a wavering voice. He pushed out puffs of air through his clenched teeth. 

“I know, we’re gonna kill them, okay?” Greg told him, sweeping a hand behind his back over the countertop. “See? They’re gone.”

“Gone?” Nick asked in a meek voice, peering over Greg’s shoulder.

“Yeah, they’re gone. It’s over.”

“Over,” Nick heaved. He took the shirt bits out of his nose, rubbed his eyes. “It’s over.  _ Over _ .”

“It’s over,” Parker muttered into the phone. He guided Madison out of the room, went outside. “Uncle Greg’s here, it’s all good.” 

“Okay,” Grissom responded before ending the call.

“What just happened?” Madison asked Parker as they stood outside, waiting for their respective rides. 

“I have no idea,” Parker sighed. He side-hugged Madison close to him, though he noticed she wasn't crying, wasn't even shaking. He was almost proud, that she was able to keep her emotions in check, but sad that it seemed more like she was getting desensitized to their father's meltdowns. “Don’t think Dad does, either.”

* * *

He stared into the mirror, he was an absolute mess. His face sloppily lathered in shaving cream, his hair stuck up in all directions. The skin of his neck reddened and burning, almost as red as the circles around his eyes. He tried to steady his shaking hand as he lifted the razor towards his face to scrape off the beard that just kept  _ itching _ . Sure, Greg “extinguished” the ants of the counter, but there were still some on his face.

“Ah, damn!” he cursed, letting the blade fall into the sink, accompanied by drops of blood. 

He saw the red blood swirl with the shaving cream, felt a sting where the razor cut his skin. He could hear the voice of a cable guy babble about strawberry swirls, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

“You alright?” Greg asked, startling Nick out of his haunted frustration. 

“‘M fine. Just...cut myself shaving,” he admitted, shutting his eyes and hanging his head in shame. “Can’t even fucking do that, apparently.”

“Here, let me help you.” 

“I can do it! Don’t need a fucking  _ babysitter  _ to help me,” Nick protested, swiftly picking up the razor, though his fingers shook the blade out of his hand again. 

Greg picked up the blade, Nick stiffened, but let Greg touch his face, sliding the razor across his skin--so smoothly Nick barely even felt it. Greg kept his eyes focused on the task at hand, but Nick couldn’t help but stare into Greg’s face, his cheeks felt hot, he took a sharp breath when Greg turned his head.

“Hey, keep still, or you’ll end up with another mustache,” Greg teased.

“A mustache?” 

“Yeah, you lost a bet with Warrick. Here--” Greg whipped out his phone, pulled up a picture in a few seconds. “We dubbed it ‘The Porn-stache.’ Nearly pissed ourselves laughing when Rick came up with that.”

The corners of Nick’s lips curved up, everyone had seemed to try to avoid the subject of Warrick around Nick--another on the long list of “maybe we  _ shouldn’t _ talk about this right now,” possibly out of fear of adding another mile onto his downward spiral. But he wanted to talk about it. Wanted to talk about the things, good or bad, that had happened, because how could he remember them otherwise?

“We were happy?” Nick asked, staring at the picture of him, Greg, Warrick and Sara all gathered at a table, presumably at a bar, pointing at what looked like a caterpillar on Nick’s upper lip. A question, because the way people tip-toed around the events of the last thirty years led Nick to believe there was a scarce amount of “happy” times that were had. He hoped this was not the last picture of the four of them together. 

“Yeah, we were,” Greg smiled. His eyes lingered on Greg’s hand on his shoulder in the picture.

“T-together?”

“Yeah...we were.” Greg nodded. He cleared his throat, took the phone from Nick’s hand and finished the job. He spun Nick around to look at his work in the mirror, though his face fell as he got a good look at the scratches on Nick's face and more so, his neck.

“Damn, dude...your neck.”

Nick winced as he rubbed the reddened skin.

“I’m sure I still got a turtleneck somewhere…” he muttered. It was the end of summer, hotter than hell, but he could handle the heat more than he could handle the shame of having to explain the self-inflicted scratches.

“Oh yeah, your fashion sense hasn’t changed  _ that  _ much in the past thirty years. Not for lack of trying by yours truly, of course.” 

Nick stood in front of the mirror, wiped the rest of his face away, but was still displeased with his appearance, outside of the remnants of his assault on himself. His hair was matted, overgrown. Frantic fingers had tangled it together when he thought the ants were somehow diving  _ into  _ his head. 

“God, that was so  _ stupid _ …” The words had just barely left his lips, softer than a whisper, but Greg still heard them.

“It happens, man.”

“Yeah, and how often does it happen?” Nick snapped back. “You say that like it’s a regular occurrence.”

“Well...okay, not exactly but you’ve been through a lot--”

“That’s an explanation, not an excuse,” Nick sighed. “I probably scared the shit out of those kids…”

“Park and Mads? Nah, they’re tough as nails. Hurt you more than it hurt them. They’re just worried about you.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at the reflection of himself and Greg.

“I mean, worried as much as they should be--You know, the normal amount of concern kids have about their parents when something bad happened--” he tried to cover up.

“I know what you meant, G.”

“And for that matter...so are we. We aren’t trying to ‘babysit’ you, we just...we’re here for you, Nick. To help you."

Nick nodded, and Greg patted Nick’s back before turning to walk away, give him space. A moment alone, to clear his head.

_ Clear his head. _

“Greg?” Nick called to him before he left the room.

“Yeah?”

“Can...you help me shave my head?”


	21. Fever Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overheard conversations, mistakes, and an awakening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I..am so sorry for this chapter. Truly. But with this, the worst is absolutely over now, and the time for healing is finally upon us. 
> 
> Gonna throw a warning on this one for uh...unintentional child abuse.

“It’s my fault…”

Nick froze on the staircase, hung his foot in the air. The next step down had a bit of a croak, a motion detector. He had spent many mornings like this, three decades ago—well, really, _six_ decades ago but it certainly didn’t feel like it—as a young child, trying to listen in on “adult conversations.” He’s forgotten a lot but will never forget hearing his parents discuss what they were going to get all seven Stokes siblings for Christmas that year. He was hailed as a psychic for a short time by his sisters, who had not believed him when he told them what they were getting that year until the day came to open the presents under the tree. 

But the conversation he was overhearing was not one about Christmas presents, it was one of regrets. 

“What do you mean?” Greg prodded. “Not like you were the one who threw him off a cliff.” 

“No, but...his...his regression. I can’t help but think...it’s because of me,” Grissom elaborated. Nick shook his head in disbelief, wanted to finish his journey down the stairs and tell Grissom that for once, he was wrong. To ask him why he thinks he was responsible for something that was nobody’s fault, not even Nick’s. Instead, he kept quiet, steadied himself, leaned in closer to hear more.

“How?” Greg asked incredulously. It was an odd shift of power, for Greg to be the one questioning Grissom’s logic. Nick wondered if he had entered an alternate reality, or if his head wound had worsened.

“I brought it up. When he was...asleep. Maybe I planted those seeds in his mind, so that...when he woke up…”

“Hey, it wasn’t because of anything you said, Gil. Chances are...he probably didn’t hear it, anyway,” Sara pointed out. “Maybe his mind just...went back to a similar time where he was inches away from…”

 _Dying_.

Silence fell over the house, Nick anchored himself to the stairs, feeling something sink in his stomach, pang his heart.

“He asked me the other day...the five ‘W’s,” Catherine’s voice cut through the room, a hint of an echo bouncing through the hall. “On the case.”

“We have to tell him at some point,” Sara reasoned. 

“You didn’t see the way he reacted to…” Grissom’s voice trailed off. “Might not be the best idea to tell him--”

“Maybe it’ll bring him back? Or at least, part of him? If we tell him about the camera--”

_Camera? What is so bad about a fucking camera?_

It was the second time he’s heard a “camera” brought up in conversation of his abduction, and he still had no answer. 

“He’ll freak. I’m sure of it. And...after this morning, that’s the last thing he needs…”

They didn’t have to say it.

 _Another meltdown_.

On some level, he knew they didn’t mean to be so...derogatory, treating him like a child, because his behavior pointed towards a childlike regression on top of the amnesia. But it didn’t make it hurt any less, knowing that the team of the only people he knew, only people he fully _trusted_ was withholding information from him. Information that might even spark his brain back to normal, if he was just given it, emotions be damned. 

Yet, another part of him felt that perhaps he was better off not knowing what they were referring to, not knowing the full story of his abduction, though he questioned how anything could make it any worse than it already was. Unless they weren’t talking about the abduction at all, but rather, a series of events that put him in a coma in the first place.

Nick cleared his throat, continued his trek down the stairs, putting his friends out of their misery of awkward discussion of what they should and shouldn’t tell him. 

“Hey, Nicky,” Catherine greeted him in a slow, cautious voice as he walked into the kitchen. “Want a cup of cof--”

Her voice cut off, she smiled and extended a mug towards him. He nodded, mouthed a quick “thanks” and began to drink, rubbing one of his eyes behind his glasses. 

“Have a nice nap?” Sara asked, in an almost playful tone, almost a tease, furthering the comparison of Nick to a child, unintentionally raising the heat inside his body. 

He cleared his throat again, tugged at his turtleneck nervously. After his shave and a haircut and location of said clothing item, he had decided to just...shut his eyes for a minute. Next thing he knew, he woke up in bed, tucked in with a scribbled note from Greg, “Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah. Yeah, feeling better…” he muttered. He started to open cabinets and drawers, looking for the sugar packets he could only hope that he kept in his house.

“It’s in the one above the cof--above the pot,” Greg pointed out.

 _Great, now “coffee” is a sore subject, too_.

“Here, I’ll hel--”

“I got it,” Nick snapped, a little more vehemently than intended, covered with a half-smile. “Thanks, G.”

Silence fell over the room once more, this time, with added awkwardness as Nick realized Grissom had neither looked at him nor said a word to him since he entered the room. 

Nick was about to open his mouth, say something he would probably regret, when they were all saved by the return of the children from school. 

“Uncle Greg! I’m home!” Madison called out before sprinting into the kitchen. “Uncle Grissom! Aunt Sara! Aunt Catherine! An--Who...Who are you?” 

The girl froze, the smile wiped off her face as she stared at Nick with non-recognition. 

“What, did you get amnesia too? It’s me, it’s...your-your Dad,” Nick told her with a slight tease in his tone, that soured to a struggle as he still wasn’t comfortable referring to himself as a “father.”

“But...B-but your...your hair! A-And beard!” she blurted in a shaky voice. She began to wail, loudly, causing Nick to wince as she buried her face in her hands. He felt the strings of his heart stretch out to the max, his tongue licked his lips nervously, his own chin began to wobble.

“Aw, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’ll grow back--” he tried to reason with her, held out hands to wrap her up, but she pushed him away. Catherine stood up, to catch Madison before she stumbled to the ground.

“What’s going on, is everything okay?” Parker shouted before running into the room. “Oh my _God!”_

The teenager burst into a fit of laughter, Nick’s eyebrows fell from an upward curve of concern to a narrow melt of curiosity.

“What’s so funny?” 

“You...you look like Steve Jobs!” Parker howled. Greg began to chuckle before falling into a fit of laughter too. Madison ceased her sobbing, her face glowing in rage.

“It’s not funny, Park!” she cried out, stamping her foot on the ground.

Catherine pursed her lips in an effort not to laugh, but a giggle escaped her lips, earning Madison to shrug out of her grasp in disapproval. 

“Hey, why don’t we go in the other room,” Nick suggested to the young girl. “C’mon…”

He gently prodded the girl into the next room as the laughter in the kitchen continued. He sat her down on the couch, she heaved a couple of times, allowing her body to fall into Nick’s arms, her head bounced on his stomach. 

“You-You don-don’t...look like _him_ anymore!” Muffled sobs drove the dagger further into his body, he must be some sort of masochist to not think of things like this, before making decisions that would obviously affect his children in such a way--granted, how was he supposed to know that this little girl had never seen him with a shaved head? 

“I’m sorry,” was all Nick could offer her. “It’s okay, shh, shh, shh…”

After a few minutes, her sobbing faded and they both sat holding each other, foreheads throbbing with headaches.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

She nodded into his stomach.

“Okay. Which one?”

“The...mmmghm one…” her unintelligible voice muttered.

“Which one is that?”

“Wha’?” she lifted her head up, taken aback that he obviously had no idea what she was asking for.

“Which movie is that one?”

“The hotel one!” 

“Sweetie, I don’t know what that one is!” Nick tried to reason in a raised voice. “Which movie do you want?”

“I want...I want…” she shoved herself off of the couch, staring at Nick like he had five heads. “I want my Daddy back!”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wanted him back, too.

Madison darted out of the room, stomped up the stairs and Nick heard the slam of a door closing as Grissom and Sara emerged from the kitchen.

“Want me to go talk to her?” Sara asked.

“No, maybe she...maybe she just needs space,” Nick sighed with some irritation in his voice. “What...what movie is the ‘hotel’ one?”

“Hotel Transylvania. You wouldn’t have known it, anyway…” Grissom told him. 

Nick went to run a hand through his hair, lifted it off his bare head to give it an odd look as he remembered that he had just shaved. 

“We gotta head out, but we can stay--” Sara began.

“No. No, it’s fine. You...You’ve done a lot for me, I really appreciate it. Both of you.” 

Sara gave him a quick hug, Grissom a pat on the shoulder before they exited the house. He turned on the television, tried to follow down the instructions Parker had given him on how to access the digital library of movies, an effort to look for “the hotel one” for his daughter, perhaps entice her to come back down.

“Hey, Dad,” Parker chuckled as he walked into the room, now holding a laptop. “Gran’ma wants to talk to ya.” 

The boy fell into a fit of giggles after he placed the laptop on the coffee table in front of Nick. He walked out before Nick could ask what he meant by “talking,” as the laptop display was of an elderly woman, and he was not handed a phone to talk into. 

He nearly jumped when the image on the screen began to move. And talk.

“Oh, my baby,” the woman cooed at him. She had a tube across her face, there was a cylinder and IV behind her.

“M-Mom?” Nick asked, tears bubbling beneath his eyeballs. His fingers stroked the screen as his voice cracked. “Momma?”

“That’s right, sweetie, it’s me. Your Momma.”

She was crying too, through the sad smile that caught her tears. 

“Wh-What is this, where are you?”

“I’m home, this is a...a video call.”

He could hear the heartbreak in her voice. 

“Wish you were here,” he muttered. 

“I know, baby, I know. I wish I could be there with you. Tell me, what’s on your mind?”

He paused, holding the edges of the screen, wishing he could somehow jump through it, fall into her arms.

“Momma, I’m so confused,” he admitted to her, the floodgates opened, his back arched and heaved. 

“Oh, Nicky…” his mother cried, garbled through the laptop speaker. She began to cough, a whooping, hacking cough before she got up from the chair, left the frame of the screen.

“M-Momma?” Nick called into the speaker. He raised his voice louder. “Mom!” 

He couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the line, until he heard a door open--he looked around him, it wasn’t from inside his house.

“Mom?” it was his brother’s voice, Todd. “Mom! Oh my god! BARB! CALL 9-1-1!” 

“What’s--NO! MOMMY! Don’t go, please, please, please, don’t go...Yes, operator, this is Barbara Stokes--”

His brother’s face popped up on the screen, sending Nick flying backward, a small yelp flew through his lips.

“Nicky?”

Nick shut the laptop closed, began to hyperventilate as he stared at the empty void in front of him. A shaky hand covered his mouth, holding back the vomit that was daring to escape his stomach. As soon as he felt like he could stand again, he ran to find a proper phone, a piece of technology he knew how to use.

* * *

If he had a nickel for every time Todd told him, “it’s gonna be okay, little bro,” he’d be retired by now. 

He was actually surprised that he _wasn’t_ retired by now, anyway, but then again, Nick Stokes is not a quitter...except for the one time he apparently quit, according to a story from Morgan Brody, who Nick was surprised to learn was Conrad Ecklie’s daughter, of all people. 

The entire day had felt like a fever dream, from the coffee grounds, to the intensely contrasting reactions of his appearance change, to the video call with his mother that gave her a minor stroke (and damn near _killed_ her, he kept reminding himself bitterly), but the already horrific dream turned into a straight-up nightmare right after a surprisingly normal dinner.

Parker had asked him--once he stopped crying, and after a very long talk with his Uncle Todd--if his boyfriend could come over for dinner. Well, he didn’t say outright “boyfriend” but Nick could tell almost immediately that’s what they were, hoping that he had been open enough with his son that he could one day confide in him about it, if he hadn’t already. 

The kid he brought over seemed nice enough, had remarkably amazing manners, didn’t make things more awkward than they already were, almost fooled Nick into thinking the worst of the day was over. The way he and Parker talked and laughed reminded him so much of himself and Greg, and it must have reminded Greg, too, because he had shot Nick more than a couple of glances, even placed his hand on Nick’s anxiously bouncing knee. 

Dinner was eaten, desert was had, and the household which was slowly filling up again with more visitors to Nick’s half-appreciation, half-annoyance. Some people he knew, some he didn’t. Flip flopping between his natural politeness with the strangers that weren’t actually strangers, and the lighthearted ease in which he conversed with the people he knew as actual friends, his mind had felt hazy, dizzy. Part of him knew he should have turned in early, called it a night. 

It was a long day, the longest he had since the box, and he was not in his right mind.

An explanation. 

Not an excuse.

Parker and Colin were in the living room, sitting on the couch. Nick was just passing through on his way back to the kitchen after taking a short walk with the dog, accompanied by Brass, who talked his ear off in a way that made Nick feel truly a home--when he saw that Parker was squirming on the cushions. 

“Colin, no…” he whispered. “Not in front of the adults…”

“They aren’t watching, relax, man…You know I don’t kiss and tell, neither do you…”

Nick then noticed the _intimate_ position they were in, Colin had one arm wrapped behind Parker, hugging him tight to his body, the other hand on his knee...rubbing down his thigh.

A swarm of images blinded Nick’s eyes, indistinguishable from each other, the sounds merged together into one that resembled a roar, and when the images faded from his vision, he was holding the kid to the wall with white-knuckled, balled up fists of clothing. His whole body vibrated, saliva was seething between clenched teeth, drooled down his wobbling chin, tears rolling down the mountain of his face like boulders, his cheeks heated by the migraine in his forehead.

The kid morphed into a smirking rat of a man that Nick didn’t recognize, didn’t trust for a second.

“ _Keep your fucking hands off my son_ ,” he growled at the man, the scent of urine lingered between the inch-wide space between them. 

“Dad, STOP!” Parker shouted, the loudest out of the mess of noises that buzzed in his ears. A plea, that managed to bring him back to the surface, the man melted back into the doe-eyed kid who hadn’t said a word. 

His fingers let go of the kid, who scampered away, up the stairs, followed by Parker. He got one look at the kid’s face, out of all the emotions that the kid was expressing through his eyes, the disappointment stung Nick the most. 

“Nick?”

A hand on his shoulder, he jerked away from it, was left staring at his shaking hands in front of his face.

 _"Nick,_ ” the voice repeated, firmer, but he pulled his legs from the ground beneath him, ran up the stairs, because apparently that’s the direction the Stokes family runs to when things go haywire.

He had ran up the stairs, not yet caught up with his breath when his ears pricked up at hushed voices behind a barely closed door. 

“Don’t worry about it, man, my Grandma’s got Alzheimer’s--” Colin’s voice was still trembling, but seemed to have an air of okay about it that still didn’t put his heart at ease.

“He doesn’t have Alzheimer’s! His brain is fine! He just...can’t...” Parker sputtered. Colin leaned away from him, as he buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry...just...this day was a giant...clusterfuck. You shouldn’t have come over. I shouldn’t have asked you over. We just got back together, and now we’re gonna get torn apart because of…”

“This’ll stay between us, Parker, I promise. My parents don’t need to know--” 

“How’re you gonna explain the black eye on your face? They’re gonna call the cops, Dad will get arrested--”

“Ran into a door,” he cut in a simple tone. “Seriously, it’ll be okay.”

“But it’s not! It’s not okay…”

Parker’s body heaved in Colin’s arms, and Nick forced himself into his bedroom, decided that it was probably best if he just fell back asleep.

And never woke up. 

He shut the door behind him, banged the back of his head against the wood, cursed at himself for all the hurt he caused in less than twenty four hours. A shaking hand nearly impacted the wall in a fit of rage as he recounted what had just transpired, the face of the frightened, bruised kid wouldn’t leave, even behind closed eyes. He began to mentally practice the apology script to the kid’s parents, “sorry, I have amnesia and probably a bit of brain damage, too, if I’m going around punching the boyfriend of a son I can’t even remember.”

 _“He doesn’t have Alzheimer’s! His brain is fine!”_ Parker’s words sparked in his head, whacked him in the face. 

_He just can’t remember_ , Nick grimly completed the boy’s unfinished train of thought. 

He threw himself on his bed, rolled his head as he imagined the red and blue lights outside his house, the clamoring of officers in the house that didn’t feel like home, imagined the click of handcuffs on his wrists behind his back. Losing the control he never seemed to have of his own life in the first place.

His wrists tied _behind his back._

 _“Hey, you can’t do that!”_ Madison’s voice now rang in his head like a bell, led his eyes to the manila folder on his side table. His fingers had just brushed against it, when the flurry of images came back into his mind...

_“I can do whatever I want to your Daddy.”_

The entrance of a new voice sent his body jolting upwards, he gasped, looked back at the folder on the table. He grabbed it, opened it as if his life depended on it. He studied the contents, looked at the photos of his own crime scene, read the transcribed words of his daughter, his son, a criminal, an old colleague, a new colleague...but something was missing.

Something wasn’t right.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for the small black device that he hadn’t even touched, unaware of its purpose until this particular moment, as he dialed a number that was provided to him on a small rectangular piece of paper. 

But he didn’t need the paper to input the numbers, he knew the number by heart.

“McCormick,” a weary voice answered into the phone, he vaguely wondered what time it was, looked for the watch that wasn’t on his wrist, that he now realized was locked somewhere in evidence storage. 

“Hey, Cass, I’m reading your report...You’re missing something.” 

“Nick?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You’re missing something, in your report, you don’t have the full story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes. He's actually back.)


	22. Fall into your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return, a reveal, and reunions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We...are...so...close y'all. This is insane.
> 
> Hints at sexual abuse.

A splash of warm water on his face eased the tension on his red eyes, but the cure for his broken heart wasn’t so easy. He sighed heavily as warm breath stuttered out of his body, replaying the events of the past twenty four hours, wondering how it all could have gone differently--what  _ he  _ could have done differently. 

His mind wasn’t in the right place, he kept telling himself, but those words offered little comfort.

He stared into his reflection in the mirror, the only mirror in the house that had been untouched, still intact. His fingers flexed into a fist, he lifted it up, an urge to shatter the person in front of him. Weak, fragile. 

He needed to be strong.

Instead, he unfurled his fingers, gripped the edge of the counter-top, nervous bumps bubbling over his bare, arched back. 

“Scars?” a soft, hoarse voice rasped from the open doorway. He wasn’t even that shocked to see his father, standing in the hallway, looking a little lost. 

“Yeah, Dad. Scars,” Parker replied, flatly, wearily. It was hard, having to be so patient with the older man, wondered if he was this annoying when he had the mind of a small child himself. But he couldn’t be mad at Nick, all things considered. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t Colin’s fault either.

It was Parker’s fault, and for that, he was angry at himself more than his father. It was his fault that he invited Colin over for dinner, he should have known better, given how the morning had gone. He should have known better than to take advantage of being the poor boy both with and without a father, having asked the other adults in the household if Colin could come over for dinner instead of Nick. He shouldn’t have been so eager to fix things between him and Colin, to the point where he was overcompensating and spending very possible second with him. 

But because of all of that, because of the events that led to a tearful goodbye between the two teenage lovers, there was a very real possibility that he and Madison would be taken away from Nick. Away from their home. And what would it even matter to their father, who was still not grasping the idea of fatherhood, anyway. He’d probably jump at the chance to restart his life, pack their belongings himself, shoo them out of the house. A chance to start over, a second chance, to re-do the past thirty years. 

Granted, he’d probably lose not just his kids, but his job too. And who would that leave? Certainly not Nick Stokes. The shell of a broken man who died months ago on the forest floor. 

Nick crossed the threshold, gentle fingers tracing the scars of Parker’s back from his slide in the forest. Parker observed his father in the mirror, squinting close at the man’s eyes, which held something Parker hadn’t seen in months. His heart fluttered, mouth gaped open. 

Parker spun around, stared up at his father, gulping down a multitude of emotions that dared to escape past his lips. He needed to wait and be sure of what was running through his father’s mind, before he derailed him from any more wild trains of thought. It was bad enough he punched Colin in a fit of hysteria, he knew that Nick would  _ never  _ forgive himself if he punched his own son. 

His father did something he hadn’t done since that day in the forest, wrapped his arms around Parker, pulled him against his body. He placed a hand on the back of his head, drew it to his chest, against his beating heart. He felt a soft kiss planted on top of his hair, just barely felt under the shaking of his body.

“Dad?” he asked in a faltered voice, wavering, because perhaps he had fallen asleep. He had been dreaming about this moment for so long that it seemed impossible.

“I got you, Parker. I got you,” Nick whispered to him, held Parker firm in his arms. “I’m so sorry, buddy.” 

Parker sobbed into his father’s chest for what seemed like hours, his mind running rampant with more seemingly impossible scenarios, in which everything would go back to the way things were before the ill-fated camping trip.

But for now, he would accept this reality, wrapped in the embrace of man who recognized him as his son. 

* * *

For all the energy expended throughout one of the longest days in his life, in both his own tear-shed and absorption of Parker’s, he thought he would have been able to sleep.

He had carried his son to bed, a feat that previously would not have been a problem. Perhaps it was a symptom of his older age, the fact that his joints hadn’t fully healed yet, or that Parker had bulked up in the past few months. He had managed to tuck in his son, but was pulled into bed with him, and how could he say no to the soft, muttered pleas of “don’t leave me again.” 

“I won’t, Parker, I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay,” he had told him, and Parker fell asleep almost instantly in his arms. 

He had leaned his head against his son’s, had just shut his eyes when he was thrown into a terrifying trip down memory lane, a nightmare that he had become numb to a long time ago, but the nightmare took a sickening new turn. He was no longer dreaming of himself in all of the life-or-death situations he stumbled into, but rather, of  _ his son  _ in those same life-or-death situations. Taking horrible, twisted echoes of “I want to be just like you, Daddy!”--a line which Parker had uttered to him many years ago, his feet kicking in the air as he sat on the kitchen counter, in innocent awe of his favorite superhero, now dubbed over images of Parker at the end of the barrel of a thousand guns, tossed through a broken window, bleeding on the ground from a shotgun blast, covered in dust and debris and clothes on fire from an explosion.

The most haunting and vivid image was Parker, buried in the ground, long before it was his day to die. 

He had to put a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming. 

Resigned to the fact that he would not get any sleep that night, he gently removed Parker’s arm from his stomach, replaced himself with a soft pillow and crept down the stairs of the sleeping household. 

He surfed the channels, couldn’t decide on what to watch, found himself scrolling through the digital library of movies, when he was startled by the sound of soft footsteps prancing down the stairs.

“What are you doing up so late?” Madison yawned, shuffling in her slippers around the couch.

“Could ask you the same question, kiddo.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Madison mumbled, swinging Nina back and forth in front of her. 

“Me neither.”

“Whatcha watchin’?”

“Nothing, really. Could be persuaded to throw on someone’s favorite, though.”

He turned his head towards the girl, his eyebrows raised, lips curled into a half smile as he wordlessly selected “Hotel Transylvania.” 

“You...you remembered!” Madison gasped, head spinning from the television to Nick. 

“Of course, sweetie. How could I ever forget?” 

Madison threw herself into Nick’s arms, bursting into a blissful fit of giggles and sobs. Cursed with the same insomnia that seemed to be yet another Stokes family trait, Madison was awake during the entire duration of the movie, which they played twice, until Nick checked the time and saw that it was time to make breakfast. 

* * *

“So you read the file?” Cassie asked as she took a sip of her coffee. 

Nick leaned back in his chair, nodded. 

“Yeah. I did.”

“You said on the phone that I was missing something?”

He sighed, he had been dreading this conversation since he “woke up,” but was also eager to just get it out of sight, out of mind. If he just tackled this wave once and for all, perhaps he could escape the damaging ripples and wash up on the shore completely intact. 

And truth be told, for once in his life, part of him actually wanted to just...talk about it.

“Between, uh, between the time the kids ran off and y’all found me, some...thing happened. Something that I-I’m sure Peter wasn’t too keen on sharing, based on how little he seemed to talk when you interviewed him. A-and I know that, uh, even if...you were able to piece together what happened, based on the evidence…”

“The human element is still necessary,” Cassie completed for him. 

“Guess you did pay attention in class after all, huh?” Nick jabbed, a playful smile teasing his lips. 

“I had a good teacher.” 

Cassie smiled through her eyes.

“So, let’s...let’s begin at the beginning, how did you run into these guys?”

“They ambushed me outside the tent. Threw a few punches, a few...threats.” He paused, the first words spoken to him by Theodore would haunt him for the rest of his life. “Told me they needed a way out of the forest.” 

He gulped, fiddling with his tangled fingers. Cassie placed her hand on top of his, gave him the strength to keep talking.

“You, uh, you got pretty much all of what happened after that, hands got tied up, we got to the top of a cliff... I tried to fight back.” 

Flashes of vultures pecking and pecking and pecking. But he was in a clear enough mind to see that now, they weren’t really vultures. Just two deranged men, screaming at him, and he was screaming back. 

“They dragged me further up the mountain, I think they...think they dislocated my arms, or something, they felt...disjointed. Laid my body down, my head rolled off the side, I thought...I thought it was the end, really. Then they…”

_ “Stop squirmin’ or we’ll do to you what we’re gonna do to your daughter!” _

“They threatened my kids again,” he lied. He shut his eyes, cursing at himself for the fib, but  _ nobody  _ needed to know about that. And it wasn’t a complete lie, after all, as the threat against Madison still stood. “And then I kicked Theodore in the balls.”

A surge of pride shone in Cassie’s eyes, though tears began to roll down Nick’s cheeks.

“Somehow managed to roll over, sweeped his legs, and then...we rolled off the cliff. Together. I don’t know how...high the fall was, things got a bit...hazy after that, but that’s...that’s when I pulled out the gum. For you.”

He smiled, wiped his face. 

“You’re smart, Cassie, real smart. A-and I’m so proud of the CSI you’ve become, that you were able to figure that out. Didn’t really think about it, but there’s...there’s a lot of litter in the forest, ya know, and as they dragged me away from that spot, I was worried that, uh...the trail would have been lost…”

He paused again, remembering how he had felt lost as his body was dragged further and further away, the only solace knowing--or rather, hoping--that his children had gotten to safety, if not the ranger’s station. 

“Then they uh, they dragged me to the edge of another cliff, I heard them talking about ditching me altogether. ‘Dead weight.’ And then...I was thrown again. Next thing I remember...was hearing--”

_ A gunshot. _

“Parker’s voice. Then yours, and then...I woke up in the hospital.”

“And here we are,” Cassie concluded, her hands warm, prying his tightly balled fists apart, wrapping her fingers around his in solidarity. 

Nick nodded. 

“Here we are.”

* * *

“How did it go with Colin’s parents?” 

A cold chuckle bounced through the halls of the hotel that Julie Finlay had rented out. 

“About as well as I thought it would. Very civil, all things considering.” 

He was as polite as he ever was, though a bit more...conservative in his posture as Parker kept a firm grip on his knee, shooting him glances to remind him to stay calm, as Colin’s parents--perhaps a bit unintentionally--talked down to him, comparing his behavior to Colin’s ill grandmother. Under any other circumstances, Nick would have talked back, affirm that while yes, he absolutely fucked up and lashed out at what he thought was a ghostly tormentor, he didn’t need to be sent back to a hospital, and knew  _ exactly  _ who his kids were. 

“And the verdict?” 

But he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were, and he was fortunate that things didn’t escalate further.

“Colin’s, uh, not allowed to come play at our house anymore,” Nick told her as they entered her room. He immediately sat on the bed, sinking in the soft bed that somehow felt more comfortable than the one in his home. Hotel beds had a way of offering that temporary comfort, though he knew that the bed wasn’t the only source of comfort at that moment in time. “Got off easy, really.” 

She smiled, sat down next to him on the bed. 

“You know, you don’t have to stay here, there’s always room for you at Casa de Stokes,” he nudged her. “Even got a revolving door, since so many people have been coming and going.”

Finn giggled. 

“Yeah, I remember how  _ everyone  _ and their mother--literally--visited me after I woke up...I hated it.” 

Nick nodded, cleared his throat before bowing his head. A beat of silence between the two who now shared a connection stronger than ever before.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.

“‘Course you can.”

“I hate it too,” he laughed. “I mean, I-I love everyone, you know, and it’s been a great excuse to see people I haven’t seen in  _ years _ , but…”

He shook his head, stared at the wall.

“It’s all so…”

“Overwhelming.”

“Yeah. ‘S why I asked to meet you here, actually.” 

She placed her hand on his cheek, rubbed his skin with her thumb. 

“I’m glad you called.”

He brushed the hair out of her face, cheeks burning as bright as their shared smiles.

“Me too. Not too many people you can talk to about comas, you know?”

They lost themselves in a contagious laugh that lasted longer than it should have, half out of hysteria, half out of euphoria that Nick found his angel again.

* * *

He pressed the button on the seat belt, the click made him flinch. He planted a hand on the cool glass as he fumbled with the strap, releasing short pants as he wrestled out of it once and for all. 

He sat, frozen for a moment, as he stared at the large building beyond two barriers, one of glass and one of wire. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The driver asked him. 

It was an odd feeling of déjà vu, having been dropped off at another prison, in another state, by the same driver, thirty years ago. 

“I need to do this,” he answered. He looked back to the prison, exited the car. He gave one final look to Gil Grissom, who gave him a reassuring nod, before parking the car off to the side of the road, waiting for his return.

He walked up to the gate, pressed the buzzer. Was escorted to reception, filled out the paperwork, and in no time at all he found himself planted in front of another glass wall, face to face with his own reflection. Trembling hands picked up the phone in nervous anticipation, held it to his ear, but all he could hear was his own shallow breath. 

“I need to do this,” he reminded himself. Not just for himself, but for his children, too. He shut his eyes, envisioned their faces, their smiling faces, to try and ease the nerves that were creeping up his spine. “I need to do this.” 

“Gee, here I was thinking  _ I  _ was the crazy one for talking to myself,” a voice cackled through the phone’s speaker. “Perhaps our roles should be reversed, Nicholas, and you should be the one that’s locked away.”

He opened his eyes, and he was face to face with a twisted reflection, not of himself, but of Nigel Crane. 


	23. Things Are The Way They Have To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO chapters in one day? I know, but...it's time.

“To what do I owe the oh-so-humble pleasure of coming face to face with your presence?”

“You know why I’m here, Crane. You’ve been waiting for me.” 

Nigel scoffed, leaned in closer to the barrier between them. Nick sat, rigid, unmoving.

“You think I really spend my time here thinking about a waste of space such as yourself? Get a life, Stokes, I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like what, folding laundry? Don’t bullshit me, asshole. You- _ know- _ why-I’m-here,” he reiterated in a low growl that made Crane scoot a few inches away, but he still had a twisted smile on his lips.

“To...apologize? For the way we left things?”

“No. To warn you.” 

Nick leaned in close, Nigel mirrored his movements, which made him sick to his stomach. 

“I’mma warn you  _ just  _ like I warned your friend Peter...You are  _ never  _ to mention my name, or my kid’s names,  _ ever. Again.  _ You got that?”

“Or what? I’ve got nothing to lose, Nick, as you’ve made it so abundantly clear to me over the years.”

Nick seethed, wishing for the first time he could just reach through and snuff out the snake’s life once and for all. He knew that Nigel was going to be a tougher cookie to crack than Peter, who quickly discovered that he had messed with the wrong father, wrong Crime Lab Director, who played a part in ensuring that he would be locked away in a tiny room with no windows for the rest of his life. The man blubbered in gross apologies that bounced off of Nick like a brick wall. 

But Nigel always seemed to have a way to slip through the cracks in the wall, lie in wait, the perfect predator, waiting for his chance to strike. 

“Or the next visit we have, will be your last. It’ll be the last time you see and hear me, or even  _ think  _ of me ever again.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction, just hung up the phone, with such force that he almost broke the receiver. He got up to leave, but Nigel called out to him--

“How are the little brats, anyway? Parker and Madison? Saw their picture in the paper.” 

He spun around, the palm of his hand hit the glass so hard that for a second, he thought he might have broken it. He didn’t, though, instead did break the outermost layer of Crane’s defenses, saw a trace of fear light up in his eyes as he hugged the phone to his chest, scampered backwards and fell to the ground.

Nick breathed through his nose, clenched his jaw. Eyes ablaze with untethered rage, he watched as Crane was guided out of the room, and based on the discoloration in the man’s pants, he smirked as he realized he accomplished what he set out to do. 

“That’s it,” he told his calming reflection. He nodded, wiped away the emotions from his face.

A clean slate.

“That’s it.”

* * *

“Did you get what you needed?” Grissom asked him as he quickly shut himself inside the passenger’s side of the car. 

Nick leaned against the headrest, heart still in a battle against his lungs, stomach not fully settled, eyes not completely dry. This is the exact reason he had split the prison visits into two days, and part two was finally over. 

He nodded, gulped down the words that he would have used to assure Grissom that “yes, I’m fine, just  _ drive,  _ please.”

Grissom was able to deduce that for himself, and started the car. Allowed the two men to ruminate on unspoken thoughts and feelings, that didn’t need saying, not really. 

But that didn’t stop Grissom from leaving Nick with a few words as he brought him back home--He always brought him home.

“I’m proud of you, Nicky. You’re an insurmountable mountain of strength. You always have been.”

Something caught Nick right in his throat, stopped him from breathing for a few moments, before he choked out a quick, “thanks” and ran into his house, up to the shower, where he could pretend that the water pouring from his eyes was really pouring from the shower head instead. 

* * *

“Hey, Rick, I know it’s, uh, it’s been a while. No excuse for that, really. Used to come ‘round here every week, remember that? Lot easier when I lived here, I guess.” 

He cleared his throat, placed a hand on the cold stone, far colder than it should be, for a graveyard in Las Vegas.

“Just got back from visiting Ma and Cisco, too. Mom’s doing fine, really lit up when I walked in through the door--damn near scared her half to death, for the second time in a week. Thought Todd was gonna have a heart attack.” 

He hung his head, laughing darkly. 

“It was hard, going back home after...after that Skype call I had with Ma but...turns out I wasn’t the biggest family disappointment, after all. God, Stupid Stevie...You know, Park told me what he saw in the hospital, I didn’t want to believe it, but there we were, all sitting ‘round a good ol’ bonfire, when he and Jakey got into a scuffle, almost shoved his own kid into the flames. Me n’ Barb took Jake away, Todd straightened him out, but…” he sighed. “What a mess. We’d all been dancing around his behavior for years, I always had a bad feeling about him, even though he was my older brother. You gotta promise me you’ll strike down some divine intervention if I ever try do to do something that fuckin’ stupid.”

Then again, he already had. 

With Colin. 

“Been a while since I visited Cisco, too,” he cleared his throat, speaking louder, his mind was already working hard to repress  _ that  _ memory. “Near death experiences really have a way of reminding you not only of what you almost lost, but what you already lost, too...It was nice, I gotta say. For those...few moments. Where I thought you were still...But hearing that you-you were gone? It just...it opened old wounds, man, and I just...I miss you, brother. More and more every day. I think we established that more than enough times.”

His fingers gently pet the petals of the pot of flowers he brought to garnish the dirt around him. 

“I did ask Parker what happened, we talked about it, and just…Tch, I knew these days were coming. Was hoping he wouldn’t be as much of a shithead as I was when I was a teen, but.can’t help it, I guess. He’s becoming like me in more ways than one…”

He pulled out a picture of Eli hugging Parker and Madison. Left it with the pot of flowers, sticking out of the dirt. 

“Just like Eli’s so much like you, but in a better way. That’s all we can hope with our kids, though, isn’t it? That they become better versions of us. Jim told me how  _ brave  _ Parker was when...when…”

He sniffled, a rage building up inside that his son was put directly into a line of fire when it should have been him in his place, instead. 

“Long as he doesn’t go getting himself stalked or kidnapped or blown up, I think he’ll be okay though,” Nick tried to laugh, but ended up choking on a repressed sob instead. 

“I dunno, man, seems like you’re doing an okay job of handling it all, yourself,” a voice hummed in his ear.

Nick jumped up to his feet, Greg was standing on the opposite side of the grave, holding a pot of flowers in one hand, a book in the other. 

“G,” Nick breathed. “How long have you…”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Where are your offspring, anyhow?” 

“Off with our fellow Assclowns, probably getting spoiled to no end. Just wanted to stop by on our way home,” Nick shuffled his feet, wiped his nose. “What, you leaving a book for Warrick to read?”

Greg chuckled as he placed the flowers next to Nick’s. 

“Yeah, I, uh, come read to him. Sometimes. Few times...a week...When I’m in town, anyway. Book tours, and all that.” 

Nick nodded, a question danced on his tongue. He wanted to ask if Greg had read to him, too, knowing fully well that Madison was responsible for the pile of Nancy Drew books stacked next to his bed, but not for the book of Old Las Vegas Secrets. 

“Speaking of which, when’s the next time you’re in San Diego?” Nick asked. 

“Dunno. Was thinking of just...showing up at your doorstep, anyway, if that’s what you were getting at.”

Nick smiled, pat his friend on the shoulder.    
“Good man. Well, I’ll leave you two alone, should probably go get the kids before they wanna stay in Vegas forever.” 

“Yeah, we know how dangerous this city is for the Stokes family,” Greg teased. Nick laughed and crouched down, kissed his fingers and brushed them over Warrick’s tombstone.

“Sure you don’t wanna stay? Just for one chapter?” Greg asked him as he crouched down, placed a hand on top of Nick’s. “For old time’s sake?”

“Alright, you got me.  _ One  _ chapter,” he pointed at the man with his other hand. 

“One chapter.” 

They ended up reading more than one chapter, taking turns and adding commentary before their discussion drove off the road, and they spoke enough words between each other to fill the length of an entire novel itself. 

* * *

There were moments where Nick walked the halls of his house, feeling almost as a stranger would, as he noticed how small things had changed. An influx of letters and voicemails and gifts that would have made Nick think he had died instead of falling into a coma. Pictures were swapped out, furniture shifted, lost belongings from his friends and family discovered from their stays at his house. He wondered if Madison had lost something too, as she was frantically tearing apart Nick’s bedroom, opening the dresser drawers and closet, checking under his bed.

“Lose something, sweetie?” 

“Nah, just checkin’.” she replied simply, as if this were an everyday occurrence. For all he knew, it could have been, given that he basically traveled in time, missed about two months of his children’s lives. A fact that he was very well aware of and knew would be a long road to travel down, just as his full recovery is. 

But he always made that drive, no matter how long or bumpy it was. Knew that everyone, particularly Parker and Madison would be there at the end of the line. 

Just as Madison was with him at the end of an absolutely  _ exhausting  _ weekend of visits and traveling, not quite how the kids would have probably wanted to spend their first long weekend of the school year, but they didn’t seem to mind. He could tell they were tired though, just as he was. Tired enough to sleep. 

“What’re you checking for?” Nick asked as he stifled a yawn. 

“For monsters.” 

“For...what?”

“For any monsters that might keep you up and scare you. I’ve been doing it for  _ years,  _ and it’s worked every time!” 

“Oh, Maddy,” Nick crumpled, drew his daughter into his arms. “You’re so brave. And sweet, too, really sweet. Looks like it’s all clear to me, though, and it’s time for bed.” 

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Madison asked. “Just to make  _ extra- _ sure there’s no monsters lurking around.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” 

Nick nodded towards the bed, Madison wasted no time in scampering on top and digging herself under the blanket, pulling Nina out from underneath the pillow. Nick smiled, realizing she must have had this planned before they got home. 

He shut off the light, when the door creaked open.

“Hey, Dad, uh, I was just wondering--Oh.” Parker sighed glumly, noting Madison curled up in Nick’s arms. She stuck her tongue out at her older brother, a victorious glee in her eyes.

“It’s my turn, Parker, you know that!” 

“Oh, c’mon, Mads, you had plenty of turns while he was in the hos-hospital,” Parker stuttered, edging closer into the room. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you stopped visiting him for a while…” Madison muttered. “Not the first time you broke the promise.”

“Promise? What promise?” Nick asked, sitting up and releasing Madison. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Parker waved off. “Look, I think...I think the springs of my bed cracked--”

“Go sleep in my bed, then!”

“I’m too tall for that, you little bean-head!”

“Hey, now, both of ya, it’s all right. Park, c’mere,” Nick addressed his son, who then closed the door again before hopping onto the other side of the bed. Nick wrapped an arm around Parker, another around Madison and hugged them both to his body. 

“I’ve got two arms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it. You did it. WE ALL DID IT. WE MADE IT THROUGH, AND SO DID NICK! This fic went so many places that honestly, I did not intend. This fic was supposed to be fourteen chapters and it ended at TWENTY-THREE. As I type this, this is my biggest and most ambitious fic project I've ever written, and I could not have done it without all of YOU. 
> 
> Seriously I cannot--absolutely cannot stress enough how much y'all mean to me. Any and all of you that have opened this fic, left kudos or comments, or even given this fic just a MOMENT of your time, know that I appreciate your support, silent or not, and even those who have watched my fic journey from afar (this one's for the tumblr peeps who aren't even in the CSI fandom/aren't into these sorts of things but still cheer me on with likes and such, I love ya!!)
> 
> BRAIN TWIN ANON (who I know on ao3 as phenomanon) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS 💜
> 
> @frozenmemories1987, thank you so much for your support on this fic, esp since I know you're not that keen on GSR, and I'm so glad you keep reading and supporting my fics!!! 💜
> 
> @jencsi, every time I included Finn in this fic, I immediately thought of you, and when I was stuck in those parts, I just thought to myself, "What would Jen do?" and I hope I did your fav justice, just as much as you do Nick justice in your fics 💜
> 
> @deltajackdalton, you inspire me so much with Dad!Nick ideas, and you even gave me the inspiration for that picnic flashback! 💜
> 
> @underdefined67 and @orianess I'M SO SORRY I CAUSED SO MUCH HEARTBREAK BUT I ENJOY EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR COMMENTS IN WHICH YOU YELL AT ME FOR IT. 💜💜
> 
> @dannilea MY PARTNER IN ALL THINGS ANGST RELATED, you bestowed the gift of the amnesia twist on me, and honestly, I think the fic was better off for it. I cannot thank you enough 💜💜💜
> 
> @12percentplan, I'm gonna sound like a broken record from now until the end of time but HONESTLY! YOUR SUPPORT! AND CHEERLEADING! KEEP ME GOING!! I really don't think I would go through with half of my ideas or share as much fic if it wasn't for you!! Tango Charlie, Sis, now and forever 💜💜💜💜💜💜
> 
> and finally, the biggest and most important thank you goes out to @impossiblepluto, who handed me this fic on a silver platter. Pluto, if it weren't for you, this fic wouldn't exist, and without our brainstorming sessions and your feedback and WONDERFUL comments, I shudder to think at what my life would have been without all of that. You mean the absolute world to me and I look up to you in so many ways, especially as a writer, because you are one of my absolutely favorite whump writers (and fic writers in general) and your dedication to supporting me and detailed comments that you left on this fic kept me going in a few times where I thought I couldn't anymore. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
> 
> Oh, before I forget, a new tradition I want to start with these bigger fics, is the sharing of the playlist I create for it during the writing process. (I think I shared the one for Atrophy, can't remember. Probably will go back and add that in.)
> 
> Here is the playlist of songs that inspired me and remind me of this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/69mpdvhtFpBklJMIy3mMHK?si=6mCg5j3aQpyAMo5yGgD7rA
> 
> And with that, this fic comes to a close with the final chapter, and tomorrow the sun will rise with a new chapter of my life, in which I wake into a world where this fic is complete.


	24. Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a collection of the images I made for the chapter posts on tumblr, and link to the playlist!

Here is the [**playlist**](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/69mpdvhtFpBklJMIy3mMHK?si=6mCg5j3aQpyAMo5yGgD7rA) I made during the writing of this fic!

The graphics I made when posting to my [tumblr](https://panchostokes.tumblr.com/):

**Chapters 1-5**

**Chapters 6-10**

**Chapters 11-15**

**Chapter 16**

**Chapters 17-20**

**Chapters 21-23**


End file.
